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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



A Last Token 



E. J. NYENHOUSE 




JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY 

INCORPORATED 

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY 

1910 



-■\ 






Copyright, IQiO, 

BY 

E. J. NYENHOUSE 



©CLA2781i9 



'V 



TO MY MOTHER, 

Remembered after death, 

These Tales and Sonnets are inscribed, 

As a Last Token of esteem and love. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Adolphus Salamander 7 

The Widow Cloverdale 21 

The Diary of Ada Brown 37 

The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 55 

The North Woods 75 

Estanaula 77 

Vesperis 80 

A Memory 84 

Lilies of the Cross 85 

The Girl Who Took the Veil J. 87 

Our Lizzie 88 

Her Cousin German 89 

The Chaff Hunters 90 

The Sceptre and the Lance 94 

A Sonnet to the Moon 96 

A Sonnet to the Cash Register 97 

The Warfare of the Wild 98 

The Building of a Star 104 

The Wreck of the Pelican 109 

'Tis a-Coming 115 

The Shadowland 116 



A Last Token 



Adolphus Salamander 

The evening sun was sinking low; 
The western sky was all aglow; 
And colored bright the Ohio 
From bank to bank at Louisville; 
Long iron bridges spanned the stream; 
Homewards the darky drove his team; 
And far off, fading like a dream, 
Stretched a long line of ridgy hill; 
While smoke, both thick and dark of hue, 
Eose to the sky and marred the view. 
Yet it was still a lovely scene, 
A hint what long ago had been; 
When the red forester retained 
Control and nature through him gained. 

A fellow sitting on the bluff, 
Who claimed to be a workingman. 
Whose thoughts far more on travel ran, 
Viewed it disdainfully enough. 
The charms of country scenery, 
Contrasting with the smoky blight, — 
A cloud of smoke hung on the height: — 
Eose up within his memory. 
He held a paper in his hand: 
The 'Courier Journal,' which he thought, 
Was worth a nickel when he bought: — 
A leading journal in the land. 

Tied to the bank a shanty boat 
His idle fancy kept afloat; 
There were two shanty boats in fact; 
The first one was a traveling boat. 
New and repainted with a coat 
Of tar and gravel on the roof; 



A Last Token 



The inmates watched him in the act 
Of reading, and a man came forth, 
Also a dog who held aloof, 
The man advancing on the sport. 

^Evening/ the Captain of the craft 
Mentioned the fact he had arrived; 
In turn the Salamander dived 
Down deep and made the water aft: 
'Fine evening': and the bitter truth 
Flashed on the Captain it was so; 

The Captain made another show 

Of hands, and straight this question put: 

'From here to Cairo now how far?' 

Searching the heavens for a star, 

The Salamander calmly said: 

'Three thousand furlongs up to date.' 

This was a poser; and the wind 

And weather of the shanty tar. 

Were mixed and hopelessly at war: 

Therefore the talk came to an end; 

The Captain tumbled from the bluff 

And joined the dog: he had enough. 

His wife and daughter both below, 

Waved their sun bonnets at the bow; 

Whether they waved them at the dog. 

At him, or at the humorous rogue, 

Cannot with certainty be said; 

They might be wild to go ahead; 

Though it is certain that the boat 

Stayed through the night: her lights it showed. 

Still undisturbed, another page 
The Salamander brought in sight: 
Here was the heading of a fight; 
How Bob Fitzsiramons graced the stage; 
How he beat Sharkey in the ring; 
Then came the usual questioning: 
Was it a fake or was it fair? 
The editor opined with rare 
Discernment through his sporting blood: 
That it was fair, and there it stood. 
All this he followed with the tense 
Attention of his graver sense. 



Adolphus Salamander 



But local talent in the ring 
Was also mentioned on the page; 
And Marvin Hart, then quite the rage, 
With a long record, checked the king, 
Or beat the bishop of the game 
With ease: a man of local fame. 
Further: the pugs at Billy Smith's 
Were quite proficient with the mitts. 

He dropped the paper, — while the glow 
Of sunset settled on his brow. 
He had some pugilistic skill, 
And a stout heart to back it with; 
He had engaged in many a mill; 
With the bare knuckles not with mitt 
He fought, and many a burly brute 
Felt small when ended the dispute. 

Taking the paper up again. 

He read, nor did he read in vain. 

On the same page, the sporting man 

Played ball, and 'twas a grand display; 

Being something of a baseball fan, 

And a good umpire in his way. 

He followed scores, and touched the plate 

With the persistency of Fate. 

The great unpardonable sin, 

Was to decide a doubtful play. 

Against the chasers of the ball 

From home, and this, this covered all. 

Just then the second shanty boat: — 
Where a strong able bodied man, 
Acted as watchman now and then; 
Where barges laid; and many a load 
Of diamonds from the Pittsburg mines 
Were stowed away in city lines: — 
Perceived a floater going by, 
A dead man with a dead man's eye: 
And pleading for a burial place. 
All was commotion on the scene. 
The Lifeboat Station could be seen, 
Preparing for a furious race; 
Into the chute and on the falls, 
Where whirling with the waters wild, 



10 A Last Token 



The dead man's movements them beguiled; 
With measured stroke and murmured calls. 
They ventured and pursued the chasej 
And after, resting on their oars, 
Amidst excitement on the shores, 
They caught the floater; and in tow, 
Anchored the derelict below. 
In waiting till the coroner gave 
Permission and it found a grave. 

Like the philosopher he was. 
The Salamander never moved; 
Though his humanity approved 
The chase, he calmly let it pass; 
And turning to the page again, 
Found something in a different vein. 

Always some robbery occurs, 

Some hold up, or a cutting scrape, 

And Rubes from somewhere all agape, 

Eager to win their maiden spurs. 

Come dropping down from various points. 

Ripe for the sickle of the Joints. 

The Rube that he was reading of, 

Had wandered into Grayson Street, 

Sandals of gold upon his feet. 

This was a portion of the town, 

That is more generally known. 

Because its people are so tough. 

*I like this street, the Rube was saying: 

It looks quite pleasant after haying.' 

And colored damsels by the score, 

After surveying him o'er and o'er 

Then offered for a fancy flight 

Of cash to board him for the night. 

Next morning, when the sun arose, 
A countryman in ragged clothes 
Found the policeman on the beat; 
His watch and money both were gone. 
He had been generally done: 
And he denounced all Grayson Street. 

Hurry to jail with patrol wagon. 
Give 'Little Africa' a naggin': 
But you will rarely find a watch 
Or purse in any negro catch. 



Adolphus Salamander il 



The Gait House was a great hotel, 
And seemed to suit all Louisville; 
Here General Nelson had been shot, 
A tragedy not yet forgot; 
And every traveler of renown, 
Who ever visited the town 
Seemed to have visited the same, 
Leaving his memory and fame. 
A hundred forms of social life, 
From debutante to the wife: 
To preparations for a ball, 
Its memoranda could recall. 

It could recall the Civil War; 
It honors still the Southern Star; 
Yovl drink your liquor from its bar. 
And feel a gentleman all over, 
Whether a President or Lover. 

'This — said the Salamander, now: 
This puts a fellow in a glow. ' 

Ten 'moonshine' fellows in the jail, 

Ten mountaineers awaiting bail: 

Each drinking whisky from a pail, 

Just as he made it in the still. 

Ten riflemen with wish to kill 

The men and bloodhounds on their track. 

And lay each dead upon his back. 

And this is not a Scottish clan. 
Nor is it any Danish man: 
This is Kentucky in its health 
And strength and plenitude of wealth. 
'G'wan, the Salamander thought: 
Keep to your subject as you ought.' 

The Courier Journal in its range 

Of subjects traveled very far: 

'Twas reminiscent of the War, 

And turned Confederate for a change. 

Sponsors and Maids — Confederate maids; 

The bold John Morgan and his raids: 

The Monument in lower town; 

In this it took a fierce delight. 



12 A Last Token 



On these its fancy took a flight: 
As in a heaven of renown. 
'Ah well! the Salamander thought: 
This too was paid for as it ought.' 

'And did Eliza cross the stream: 
Or was the episode a dream?' 
'Fiction, the Editor replied: 
Should not be totally denied; 
So we believe she crossed the stream: 
Nor was the episode a dream.' 

Then followed an escape from jail; 

The Frankfort Penitentiary, 

Had lost a beneficiary: 

And men and dogs were on his trail; 

The sheriff had a hope, that night 

To get the fugitive in sight. 

The Salamander heaved a sigh, 

And smiled and slightly shook his head; 

Across the river, fiery red, 

The sun just sinking to his bed. 

The Hoosier prison towered high: 

Its walls all guarded by a guard 

Well armed; all ready to defy 

Efforts of liberty or death; 

A rain of bullets would have met 

The boldest break, or slyest trend 

That way with every bullet meant. 

There is the case of Eobin Hood 
Who made his boast of freedom good; 
But then old Spartacus, whom Rome 
Had such a tussle with at home, 
Got the cold shoulder from the gods 
And felt at last the lictor's rods. 
Beaten by Gracchus in the end. 
Not even Plutarch was his friend; 
For the society of Greece 
And Rome that writer had to please. 

Disasters happening on land. 
Of violence through robber band, 
Or the particulars of wreck: 
Mingled with stories of the sea, 



Adolphus Salamander 13 



Marine intelligence, that he 
Followed like schooner on a tack. 

He might be called a temperate man 
This member of the roving clan; 
A little whisky now and then, 
A whiff tobacco in between, 
Still kept his noble memory green, 
When an allusion to his name 
Was made by men of lesser fame. 

Distilleries and Bluegrass belles, 
Eace horses and the gambling hells. 
Mixed with the Breathitt county feuds: 
With girls in literary moods, — 
On all these points the paper touched, 
And all were positively judged. 

The Salamander wiped his nose 
And yawned a little as he rose; 
Then with his appetite restored 
For reading plunged into the hoard. 

Just for a change he happened on 
The market column, and the sun 
Of his remembrance being a farm, 
The price of butter made him warm: 
The eggs put ginger in his blood. 
And he felt generally good. 

The business column caught him next; 

Like a forgotten Bible text. 

It nailed him as the Prodigal Son; 

Pig iron long he dwelt upon; 

Amalgamated copper mines, 

Dared him to come within its lines: 

And stocks and bonds and bank reports, 

Left him depressed and out of sorts. 

*If any politics are worse 
Than those that Louisville do curse, 
They have not been discovered yet.' 
The Salamander's teeth were set; 
The perspiration from his brow, 
Fell to the river road below. 
In his amazement at the proud 
Distinction that the sheet avowed. 



14 A Last Token 



'Back taxes, and a general raid 
On banks and property and trade.' 
'Is this a fiction of the brain, 
Or is it truth?' I'll read again. 
'Back taxes, and a general raid 
On banks and property and trade.' 
'I see it now; 'tis merely meant 
For editorial comment.' 
The Salamander turned the page, 
And lit on Vaudeville and stage. 

Macauley, bold Confederate, 

A Colonel also in the State: 

Led the amusements in the town; 

Another Colonel widely known 

As Hopkins, and in Vaudeville: 

Confronted him in Louisville. 

Thus there was rivalry galore 

'Tween them, and half a dozen more. 

There was the Music Festival, 

Not yet a feature of the past. 

For which the Chorus had been cast; 

Before the Auditorium fell: 

Full many an anxious fluttering belle, 

Sat dreaming in her box or stall. 

Her face, her form, her shimmering dress 

And voice lost in a wilderness: 

Would it be thus? or would her charm 

So mightily the critic warm: 

He'd single out her pretty self, 

And speak a word in her behalf? 

The Salamander thought he might. 

And hoped to hear her on that night. 

The Salamander loved a horse; 
And the horse editor in shape, 
Almost committed there a rape 
On language in his flying course: 
For then the 'Derby' had been run; 
'His Eminence' had nobly won; 
And twenty thousand gallant men 
And women sure were present then. 
Picture of 'Churchill Downs' in glowing 
Colors that made a brilliant showing; 
Pictured the beauty on the stand; 



Adolphus Salamander 15 



Pictured the music of the band; 
How e 'er the running had begun, 
A rabbit started on a run; 
And how that mascot of the place, 
Was cornered, captured in disgrace. 

Then the horse editor cut loose 

And visited the betting shed; 

He had put water on his head: 

His temples burning with the news. 

Described the surging of the crowd; 

Described the various betting booths; 

And smacked his lips when various goods, 

All liquid, fluttered from his pen: 

Drank them in memory o'er again: 

And praised the management throughout. 

Then the horse editor went forth 

Where fine equipages were ranged; 

Where lovely dames his thoughts deranged; 

And Colonels hailed him as a sport; 

Where children romped upon the green; 

And dogs took interest in the scene. 

Surely! Van Meter and his horse. 

He must have met them in his course? 

He did. And with the pedigree 

Nailed as the colors to the mast 

Are nailed, when the last die is cast. 

He fought all rivals for the crown 

Of eminence and put them down. 

Pardon! he may have been too free. 

Then the horse editor with one 

Last effort and a gasp was done. 

A negro with a string of fish. 
He had been fishing on the dam. 
Asked for a match, and given this. 
Rolled up a cigarette and placed 
It lighted in the gap that graced 
His visage and went forward then. 

Parochial schools, and public schools, 
And colleges of higher class: 
Before the editor did pass. 
The Manual Training with its tools; 
The Normal where the teachers are; 



16 A Last Token 



Famous Academies, that star 

The pages of the magazines: 

Proud of their educatioual means; 

School of Reform for boys and girls; 

Invective that the editor hurls 

At some deficiency or form: — 

Made this, this page with coloring warm. 

The 'Star Eyed Goddess of Reform' 

May dwell in heart of Louisville, 

And Henry Watterson may will 

To make her leader in a storm: 

But the perversity of man 

Will interfere with such a plan. 

The Polytechnic Library, 

Where sixty thousand books are stored: 

An offer had from Carnegie, 

The steel magnate and building man; 

A picturesque Briton on the run, 

Chasing the dollar with a gun: 

His whiskers waving now and then. 

Was it not so, he could afford 

A hundred thousand dollar check? 

In truth a mere financial speck. 

The 'Courier Journal' critic here 
Rose to a height not reached before; 
He locked and double locked the door; 
Then he kept whacking at his brow. 
His eyeballs staring and aglow, 
Knowing that something must appear. 
It did; it rose within the room: 
A building, looking like a boom 
In Oklahoma, when a rush 
Is made for homesteads in the brush; 

This was the bran new Library, 
That for a thousand years might stand; 
A building worthy of the land: 
And partly due to Carnegie. 
This caused the staring of his eyes; 
This caused the whacking of his brow; 
He rose, and brushing off the flies. 
Unlocked the door and went below. 

Without a library, a town 
Would go to blazes be it known: 



Adolphus Salamander 17 



Or so tlie Salamander tliought; 
Though wild he was a thoughtful man 
And instantly his mind began 
To mark the future with a nought. 

'The Polytechnic haunts me still; 
The Polytechnic ever will 
Be cherished as a memory, 
Nor yield to Andrew Carnegie. ' 

The Salamander loved a book; 
Through hot and drowsy summer days, 
Finding some sweet familiar place, 
Near to some hill or murmuring brook. 
Where birds made music in a glade. 
Always protected by the shade: 
There he would lie extended then 
Some book to finish or begin. 

Was anything abnormal seen 

In face, in form or general mien, 

That forest glades his name supplied, 

And probability defied? 

Dark through exposure, vigorous limbed, 

With clothing rough and hair untrimmed: 

Such his appearance when he found 

His restless feet on country ground; 

With slight improvements in the same. 

When towns were shying at his name. 

All heroes of the ancient wars; 
All actors — notably the stars; 
All noble gentlemen and kings: 
Are lovers of a masquerade, 
Have in a sense their devoirs paid: 
And meddled with mysterious things— 

The Salamander had a home. 

And he had also family ties; 

He loved to ramble and to roam. 

Some girl with dark and dreamy eyes. 

With blushes mantling her cheeks: 

Had been tormenting him for weeks. 

'I've learned, the Salamander said: 
Some portion of the printer's trade; 



18 A Last Token 



I'm used to handling a plow. 
Born on a farm, my moistened brow 
Dampened so many handkerchiefs, 
Led to so many family griefs: 
That I determined to depart, 
And make an independent start.' 

*Holy Smoke! my aching heart: 
Must I from Louisville depart? 
Better brace up and go to work. 
The ideal faculties may lurk 
And seethe below: but pretty Grace 
Is leading in this Derby race.' 

A steamboat whistled with the weird 
And wild repeat of western boats; 
There was some music in the notes; 
And far below and far above 
The penetrating sound was heard. 
An eagle flying, headlong dove. 
Making as though to strike the boat: 
Then he considered, and afloat 
In airy circles moved around: — 
A half a mile above the ground. 

The Salamander watched the bird — 
Admiring; and without a word 
Folded the paper up and rose, 
Bringing his reading to a close. 

'Grace, said the hero of this tale, 
Is like a peach or southern gale; 
The perfume of her dainty skirts 
E'en with the steamboat landing flirts: 
I seem to smell them here; my nose 
Is buried deeply in her clothes. 
But I am wrong, I know I am; 
I'm smelling nothing but a ham; 
I'll make for Hackman's restaurant; 
Supper is nearly at an end. 
But something will remain, and then 
I'll mingle with the rest of men.' 

He had a furnished room in town, 
Where to the lady he was known 
As an engraver out of work; 



Adolphiis Salamander 19 



He willingly all work would shirk, 
Such was his lust for travel and 
For reading anything at hand. 

But something was required, for Grace 
Had drawn him with her handsome face, 
And a Bohemian, idle life 
111 suited with a future wife. 
So he would go to work, and hope 
That Fortune throwing him a rope 
Would yank him up a step or two, 
And make him wealthy ere he knew. 



Epilogue 



The Courier Journal building caught 
Afire one night and nearly burned; 
It might some enmity have earned, 
For its great Editor had fought 
For Dixie's land, and evil men 
Might think about it now and then. 

The Salamander stood before 

The blackened pile so widely known; 

'This is my namesake in the town. 

He thought, while peering through the door: 

Water be-drenched, dilapidated, 

I almost think we are related.^ 

The hero of our tale was washed 

And shaved and also neatly dressed; 

He had been working, and was blessed — 

He never wholly was abashed — 

With a sufficiency of coin 

The Fourth Street promenade to join. 

'Cities, the Salamander thought, 
Burn up, at least may partly burn; 
Our very Court House had a turn. 



20 A Last Token 



Just think the havoc that was wrought.* 
He passed the Courier Building, now 
With lights aglearn and made a bow. 

Another fire, the Times caught on; 
And Jean Bruce Hathaway a maid 
Still in her teens, her head upon 
The snow white of her pillow laid. 

' This, thought the maiden, this is , 

Oh Lord! do stop it for a spell.' 

Now it so happened that the girl 

The Salamander loved so well, 

Had graduated where the swell 

Young maids their thunderbolts do hurl: 

When dressed in white and graduating, 

Bryn Mawr with thought was palpitating. 

Hence lovely Jean and modest Grace 
Were chums, and walking arm in arm; 
Why here is nothing to alarm! 
The Salamander took his place 
Between them, till observant Jean 
Caught on and vanished from the scene. 

'Through me, the lady Grace began, 
You have survived your evil past; 
You even from your family ran.' 
He furtive glances at her cast. 
Through which the Captain of the boat 
That Cairo sought all smiling showed. 

And did we hear his name aright. 
And did she call him Theodore; 
His prospects certainly were bright, 
With Beauty knocking at the door; 
The lizard of the desert might 
Be on the point of taking flight. 



The Widow Clover dale 



'Madame! said Colonel Applegate, 
The proudest moment of my life 
Waits on your answer — be my wife; 
You are a widow, and the weight 
Of worth is surely on your side: 
But an old veteran of Lee 's 
Grand Army, — may his memory be 
Forever blessed! — has also pride.' 

The Colonel sitting on his horse, 
The picture of a man at ease, 
Delivered this with courteous force. 
She seemed quite difficult to please: — 
This was the widow Cloverdale. 
*I thank you Colonel Applegate, 
In silvery accents Maida said, 

I thank you truly: but the tale 

Of love sounds coarsely to my ears. 

We are unsuitable in years. 

And I may never wed again, 

Yet I am loath to give you pain; 

Let us be friends as heretofore: 

Colonel! go home and think it o'er.' 

The Colonel never said a word, 
He bowed, he raised his old grey felt: 
Then in the distance disappeared; 
The hoofbeats of his horse were heard, 
And Silence offered him its wealth. 

The Colonel was a kindly man; 
Horses were neighing as he ncared 
The rambling mansion that he called 
His home, and pickaninnies bawled; 
A dozen pickaninnies ran. 
Grabbed for the stirrups and the reins: 
Reckless of shins and even brains: 
For the good horse was all afoam, 
And fairly crazy to be home. 



22 A Last Token 



Commotion in the mansion house; 

Rumor, a traveler in sport, 

Gave to the Colonel through rej)ort 

The widow Clover dale as spouse. 

Sharp were the eyes that watched him then 

And the condition of his horse; 

The headlong running of his course, 

Proved to them all he did not win. 

The Colonel vanished; and aunt Jane, 
Having sole charge of all affairs. 
Stood at the bottom of the stairs 
In thought, and wondered o'er again 
Why Maida, beauty though she was: 
One of the belles of Lexington: 
Slightly beclouded though her sun 
Might be, could let the Colonel pass. 

Making some audible comment 

On this condition of affairs. 

Aunt Jane was going up the stairs, 

"When Toxey's voice the silence rent. 

^Miss Jane, the colored damsel said, 

Hit am dat Ches, I'm sure hit am.' 

Aunt Jane a cautious finger laid 

On lips; and Toxey like the clam 

Eenowned inhabiting the ba}^. 

Shut up, had nothing more to say. 

Also a beauty of the past, 

Aunt Jane still lingered on the shore; 

A Juno worthy of the cast. 

Her charms contrasting all the more 

Through dusky damosels, and stout 

Black matrons everywhere about. 

This majesty of mind and mien 
Was a protection to the house; 
Frowning on license and carouse, 
No immorality was seen. 
Her Presbyterian prayer book, 
Frowned on delinquents with a look 
Of scorn when Sunday came around. 
Woe to the nigger or the hound, 
The horse unruly in his stall: 
Aunt Jane was equal to them all. 



The Widow Cloverdale 23 



And yet with qualities so grand 

As these, aunt Jane could still command 

Something of love; at least a show 

Of love was offered her below. 

Cousin of Colonel Applegate 

She ruled both him and the estate. 

In Lexington's environment 

Of country towns and pretty homes, 

The bluegrass miracle that went J 

So smoothly on: that daily foams 

With milk, none better in the land; 

That offers honey to the hand 

In inexhaustible demand; 

And horses thoroughbred and fast; 

Hemp and tobacco of the best: — 

This country paradise aunt Jane 

Surveyed with Toxey by her side. 

Wonder at Maida once again 

Eose up; the Colonel's headlong ride, 

Left not a glimmer of a doubt 

Of this, that Maida snuffed him out. 

'Miss Jane, said Toxey: Marse Ed 
Am a done goner wif dat gal; 
An Ches, he am a hidin war 
Dem mountain feudists born and bred 
Dar de police an doubly dar; 
Dar mout be restin fer a spell. 
Shall I take somefing on a tray. 
Miss Jane fer Marse right away?' 

Aunt Jane considered for awhile; 
The glimmer of a thoughtful smile 
Appeared and lighted up her face. 
Then she consented with the grace 
That Toxey knew and understood: 
A grace inherent in her blood. 

Before proceeding with our tale 
It will be proper to avail 
Ourselves of author's privilege: 
The glancing backwards at the past, 
And why our heroine had cast 



24 A Last Token 



Contempt and even sacrilege 

At the good Colonel and his farm: — 

Eobbing religion of its charm. 

^Maida, said Colonel Castlewood, 
Being in a fine imperious mood, 
That moonshine fellow of the hills: 
Why do you tolerate that man? 
His father, mother, and the clan 
He mingles with delight in stills, 
As we delight in thoroughbreds. — 
His reputation's torn to shreds.' 

The girl but answered 'yes and no,' 
Her cheeks being also in a glow 
When her imperious father stopped. 
Said Colonel Castlewood again: 
'There's Cloverdale, a man though plain 
In his appearance, never robbed 
The Government through secret still, 
Nor tried a 'Eevenue' to kill.' 

That the young woman heaved a sigh, 
That she attempted tear to dry 
May be conceived, and so it was. 
Her father also had a farm. 
Where thoroughbred and bluegrass charm 
Distinguished papa from the mass; 
While a neat house in Lexington, 
Enabled business to be done. 

This Lexington is quite a town, 

With a distinction of its own, 

Though dealing largely in the horse; 

It has a cemetery fine 

As any that you can define: 

And a society of course, 

Which in the course of nature will 

The cemetery further fill. 

Eeligion in the soul and heart 

Of Maida, bore a larger part 

Than it will generally do; 

Her father was a widower. 

And had remaining only her: 

Hence his pronounced despotic view; 

And being a fiery Southern man, 

Acting as Providence in plan. 



The Widow Clover dale 25 



Though it may not appear to be, 
Yet 'tis a fact — and naturally — 
That saints are cognizant of facts; 
For they are Dreams that roam around, 
And are familiar with the ground 
Whereon are happening the acts. 
And thus may old Kentucky State 
Be ruled and visited by Fate, 

'Dear mother whom I never knew 
Wailed Maida, when her spirit flew 
Towards the inhabitants of light: 
Why are you absent from my side? 
Why must I figure as a bride 
Unwillingly or take to flight? 
You also were a suffering saint 
That has to purity attained. ' 

The sun was fast declining south, 
Some signs of autumn were about, — 
Persimmons ripened on the tree; 
Yellow and scarlet leaves at morn 
Seemed in their beaiity newly born. 
And birds of song were rare to see. 
And rabbit's foot in darky's hand 
Foretold disturbance in the land. 

Item: and then we'll cut this out; 
Father, and sternly: 'Take this girl 
Partner of mine and marry her; ' — 
'Twas thus this item came about; 
Obedient daughter in a whirl 
Of wild emotion and of fear. 
There was her lover Chester Ames, 
Might he not shoot the guy on sight: 
A mix up and a general fight. 
The family mansion red in flames? 

Like as the lightning were her thoughts, 
Flashing from point to point, as this 
Or that in ever wilder guess 
Weighed in the balance all the odds. 
But she obeyed; and as the tale 
Was told was wed to Cloverdale. 



25 A Last To ken 



As is well known, the atmosphere 

Affects a lover and a maid; 

For even when the vows are said, 

And hopes upon the altar laid, 

A storm may suddenly appear; 

A raging matrimonial sea 

Will then develop, and a lee 

Of shore will threaten with a wreck. 

Maida being dutiful and good, 

Her new position understood: — 

Her conscience keeping to the track. 

Her father's house was still her home; 
'Twas there that Cloverdale did come, 
Renting his dwelling in the town; 
He was a business man and shrewd. 
His hobby horses: and imbued 
With a desire to hold his own. 
In this quiet manner passed a year. 
Nor did the mountaineer appear. 

Pearl Waters, Maida 's servant maid, 
A colored damsel with a shade 
Of color blindness in her soul, 
Could not forget the mountaineer. 
He did so picturesque appear. 
And filled so well the lover's role. 
That when he suddenly appeared 
In town her caution disappeared. 

There also was an after fact: 

Maida a mother had become, 

A baby girl had reached the home. 

And instinct of the racing man, 

With colts and fillies in his head. 

Some curious speculation bred. 

The Handicapper entered then — 

Let us consider Cloverdale 

As such and Owner in the tale: — 

His infant daughter in a race; 

Entered her as a two year old; 

Of course she was a thoroughbred. 

And was a wonder to behold. 

Hopeful he was she 'd get the place. 

But in the stretch she leaped out from 

The bunch and galloped winner home. 



The Widow CI over dale 27 



Full of approval of the act 

He made his will, and settled all 

He had on both beyond recall. 

Both Castlewood and he were men 
Who mingled with the upper ten 
Of the fair town of Lexington; 
Being owners of the thoroughbred, 
Their stable lesser stables led 
In races and in purses won. 
Hence they were held in high esteem, 
And were a conversational theme. 

The Stable had returned; and now 
The trainer, jockey, and the low 
Contingent of the stable boys, 
Could sit around the door and smoke: 
Or from the farm the newly broke 
Young colts and fillies, like the toys 
Of future sport, bring forth to view. 
And ask each Owner would they do. 

Though it was Christmas week, the air 
Was balmy as a County Fair: — 
It drew all people out of doors; 
And Maida and her servant girl, 
In other words the precious Pearl, 
Were also gazing at the stores. 
'Twas good they left the baby home. 
For trouble surely had to come. 

'I wonder if the baby cries, 
Or is she still asleep?' for wise 
Were both the women on that point; 
'Oh! ' cried the maid, and staggered back: 
For there appearing in their track 
Was Ches, from intercourse enjoined; 
And Pearl kept smiling at him so. 
That he appeared as loath to go. 

Just at that moment Cloverdale, 
Came with a horse he had for sale 
Around the corner on the group; 
With butt end of the whip a swoop 
He made, and aimed a fearful blow 
At Ches that might have laid him low; 



28 A Last Token 



But his agility of foot 

Stood in good stead the hapless youth. 

He grappled with the 'iron man' 
As Cloverdale was better known, 
And a fierce struggle then began; 
That hero tried to run him down 
And showered blows, but all in vain: 
Bold Chester was himself again; 
And the hard pavement of the town 
Welcomed the iron man when down. 

Mistress and maid stood trembling by, 
Wholly unable while the fight 
Progressed to either help or fly. 
The conflict was a bloody sight; 
And Chester with a yell leaped on 
The horse and in a flash was gone. 

The crowd picked up the 'iron man' 
While some opined his neck was broke, 
Then with an effort Maida spoke: 
'Oh take him home to me;' and ran 
More swiftly than the bearers could 
Before to meet her father's mood: 
For though all innocent of guile 
The girl yet blame pursued awhile. 

He was not seriously hurt; 

The hammering he had incurred 

Had drawn some blood and made him swoon. 

Nor, when he fully understood 

From Pearl how matters really stood: 

Did he go crazy as a loon, 

Merely because some foolish boy 

Had ouce tried Maida to enjoy. 

His wife went with him to complain 
About the arrogant and vain 
Demeanor of the mountain man; 
The riding of the horse away 
After the ending of the fray, 
Placed the young fellow under ban — 
For it was stealing, and the law 
Would not its enmity withdraw. 



The Widow Clover dale 29 



But Fayette's Sheriff had a task 
Before him, and a * moonshine' flask 
Might be required to help him through; 
For with a warrant in his hand 
To go into that mountain land, 
Was really more than he could do; 
So leaning on the Law's delay, 
'Twas best to file his case away. 

Another year went speeding by, 
Nor rainbow promise in the sky 
That life more rosier would grow; 
The snow and ice appeared again. 
And racing horses was in vain 
As all of Lexington did know; 
So they sat smoking pipes around 
The door and spitting on the ground. 

' Daughter, said Colonel Castlewood, 
When Maida with her baby stood 
Looking at winter out of doors: 
I have a fine new Bible here. 
Wherein your daughter may appear 
As a full settlement of scores; 
For I am rather harsh at times. 
Though innocent of greater crimes.' 

Though it may not appear to be. 
Yet 'tis a fact — and naturally — 
That saints are cognizant of facts; 
For they are Dreams that roam around. 
And are familiar with the ground 
Whereon are happening the acts. 
And this is surely true, for know 
That Cloverdale was dying now. 

The Monument to Henry Clay 
Saw thither coming on a day 
When it was frosty as the Pole, 
The finest hearse in Lexington, 
To bury there a favorite son — 
The Cemetery being the goal. 
And all the horsemen of the town 
Gave Cloverdale a fair renown. 



30 A Last Token 



Unconsciously e'en to herself 
Affection^ subtle little elf, 
Had entered in her married life; 
And she regarded burial place 
Of Cloverdale with pious gaze, 
And felt as should a widowed wife. 
This was consoling, and her maid 
Pearl Waters Hhank you' for it said. 

A monument now marks the spot 
Where Cloverdale lies in the lot 
He bought while still a living man; 
While Castlewood and Maida with 
The baby on a bench would sit, 
While neither had a future plan. 
Said Castlewood: 'I'll race alone 
Awhile. ' And Maida stayed at home. 

In course of time young gentlemen, 
And the fair girls of Lexington 
Made calls on Colonel Castlewood; 
And Maida, smiling once again. 
Played hostess to the gay and vain. 
And met approval for her mood; 
And also gradually laid 
Her mourning off or changed a shade. 

'Twas then that Colonel Applegate 
Made his proposal at the gate. 
And offered her his heart and hand. 
She hugged her Mary Margaret 
To bosom as the Colonel sped 
On horseback to his farming land; 
Watching his figure disappear 
With marriage offer in her ear. 

We are now able to resume 

Our narrative from starting point; 

A nook or corner to illume 

Of Lexington nor disappoint; 

The Bluegrass and the thoroughbred 

Being overweighted for the lead. 

Wonder of wonders! Lexington 
Had a sensation in a way 
But dreamt of in a comic play: 



The Widow Clover dale 31 



For Colonel Applegate had done 

The proper thing, had wooed aunt Jane: 

Haltered his neck with silken chain, 

And posing as a Benedict 

Was too sublime to e'en depict. 

A colt and filly on the farm 
Were named in honor of the two; 
And Maida, smiling at the charm, 
Yet somehow lighter hearted grew: 
For Castlewood and Applegate 
Were friends and much together late. 

The pike was crowded with the teams 
That glittered in the sunset beams, 
And bound for dancing at the farm. 
The chicken coops had suffered some, 
When uncle Daniel toted home 
The rooster keeping him from harm: 
For he might strike his spurs into 
A horse, or bite a limb in two. 

Imagine it and let it go. 
Was Maida also at the show? 
Aye sir! that melancholy dame 
Had brought her father to the farm; 
Pearl and the baby keeping warm 
In kitchen annex, where the flame 
Made shadows on the wall, when cook 
Did pans or kettles overlook. 

The air was frosty, though the Spring 
Was hard at work endeavoring 
To start the sap within the trees; 
And a red cardinal or two 
Eose high in air for better view — 
When morning came — of bumble bees. 
Yet winter lingered, and a fall 
Of snow was possible with all. 

But let the weather go; 'tis night, 
And the whole house is full of light 
And music and of merriment; 
They danced, they also ate and drank; 
And Colonel Castlewood would clank 
With Colonel Applegate his friend: 



32 A Last Token 



Emptied their glasses o'er again, — 
The Lord knows! — counting is in vain. 

Drinking brought on the * moonshine ' stills, 
Contemptuous reference to hills, 
And finally brought on Chester Ames. 

* Colonel, said Colonel Applegate, 
What is the use of bearing hate? 

Your daughter mingles with my dames: 
She is a peach; look, how her cheeks 
Are fairly glowing when she speaks. ' 

*My friend, said Colonel Castlewood, 
His usual high imperious mood 
Toned down, and mellowed by the drink: 
I bear no enmity to Ches; 
But he ain't fairly in my class — 
You understand. I can not think 
Why Maida in her foolish heart 
Should wish from Lexington to part. ' 

* She '11 never leave you Castlewood; 
Here is your brand of whisky — good! 
I'll fill your glass and fill my own. 
But I was saying, let it end; 

This mountain fellow will descend: 
Become a citizen of town.' 
'I feel, said Castlewood again, 
A little foggy in my brain. ' 

The guests had eaten, danced, and drankj 
And quiet over the mansion sank 
When Colonel Castlewood retired. 
But Colonel Applegate remained, 
Also his wife, and Toxey trained 
To do as Madame her desired. 
Thus passed the remnant of the night: 
Bringing both Colonels into sight. 

The breeding mares and stallions fine, 
Their own and others in that line, 
Were glanced at with a reverend awe. 
They spoke of Domino and sighed; 
While Imp was almost deified, 
A mare without a single flaw. 
'Here uncle Daniel;' Castlewood 
Held forth a coin, in liberal mood. 



The Widow Clover dale 33 



And Colonel Applegate went home, 
Followed by Madame and her maid; 
Then finger on her lips she laid 
And bade Pearl Waters to her come. 
*And this is what you heard last night?' 
* Yes, said the maid. ' * Well go you now 
And find out something; find out how 
My ill used lover viewed his plight.' 
With purse in pocket Pearl departed: 
Her doleful Mistress lighter hearted. 

After you leave the Bluegrass plain 
The mountains come in view again: — 
Virginia, Georgia, Tennessee; 
The Carolinas also rise; 
And altogether they comprise 
A rocky prospect, wild of tree: 
With rivers of romantic touch, 
And all not peopled overmuch. 

Mention was made that to the hills 
Pearl Waters, Maida's servant maid, 
Had lately there a visit paid; 
And as that damsel had the frills 
Of a poetic intellect, 
To give her story more effect: 
We as the simpler character, 
Will put her story down for her. 

Passing through Danville, and returned 
She said by way of Winchester, 
She had been gone — we follow her — 
A week and had her money earned. 

Ches was a-hunting for a bear 
That had just issued from its lair. 
And he was trailing through the woods; 
The echoes of his hounds were heard 
Around the compass she averred, 
And were disturbing in their moods: 
For though she had a mountain guide 
She couldn't come near him for a sight. 

^Better come in my cabin girl, 
The guide made offering to Pearl: 
For it is useless trailing him.' 



34 A Last Token 



He killed the bear and brought it home; 
And Pearl was eating of it some, 
Though it was moderately slim: 
For as she poured in Maida's ear 
The tale, the bear had slept a year. 

'And did you ask him if the horse 

Had been returned?' Said Pearl: 'Of course, 

I asked him that the first of all, 

And mentioned Colonel Applegate; 

And Ches said, 'Yes;' and further said 

He 'd make that genelman a call, 

For I jest hinted that no harm 

Would come, his friendship being so warm.' 

Women are liberal of mind 
In love and matters of that kind. 
Though e'er suspicious of the man. 
Said Maida: 'Did you let him know 
'Twas me that sent you, did you now?' 
' No, said the girl, the b 'ar jest ran 
Into my head, and when he shot 
The b'ar I 'clare I clear forgot.' 

Pearl was a friend, and Maida knew 
The story of the girl was true: 
So she expected Ches in town; 
Though but a mountaineer, his dress 
Was gentlemanly nevertheless. 
When he took notion running down; 
And his fine qualities of mind 
Would make him mingle with her kind. 

The characters are few, in this 
Our little tale that ends in bliss, 
For the two lovers came together; 
Aunt Jane and Toxey hurried thither; 
The Colonels rode through Lexington 
As though the Derby had been won; 
And all the matrons of the town, 
With debutantes of renown. 
Were waiting for the wedding day, 
And wished to give the bride away. 

The month of June seems more in tune 
With loves and doves and wedding rings, 



The Widow Clover dale 35 



Than half the continent that brings 
Fair April to the front: or sings 
About the charm of harvest moon. 

One Sunday morn the church was packed, 

The gossips of the town all clacked 

In unison like breeding hens; 

Some half a dozen hands seized pens, 

Or pencil stubs, and wrote it off: 

The women eloquent enough. 

From the appearance of the bride, 
They to the mountaineer did glide: 
With a rehearsal of his case, 
And settlement of his disgrace. 

Imagine it and let it go; 
The hilltops people in a glow; 
While uncle Daniel to and fro, 
Captured the chicken in the coop; 
And fried or boiled it into soup; 
With watermillion from the souf 
As dessert also in his mouf. 

Eeader! if e'er you've felt at heart 
The stirrings of a lover's dream, 
The forward leaping when a gleam 
Of hope or promise took your part: 
Then you can sympathize with these 
Two lovers, as a gentleman 
Finds pleasure when another man 
Succeeds; though nothing to increase 
His record in the fortune line 
May meet him but this part divine. 

The mountaineer may love a horse. 
But he is not a racing man; 
This statement would remain in force. 
E'en though the handicapper ran 
His distance and his weight to suit. 
And gave him money yet to boot. 

They raced in Spring, they raced in Fall 
At Lexington or Churchill Downs; 
And any person can recall 
Who Zienap or Sir Huon owns. 
While Castlewood, in ha])py mood 
Amongst the foremost owners stood. 



36 A Last Token 



Now Maida througli environment, 
And through heredity as well, 
Has, I believe, a natural bent 
Towards the ringing of the bell. 
Or trumpet to the paddock blowing: 
Meaning they're off and still agoing. 

There are some corners of the earth 
Where racing is considered sport; 
But speaking for myself 'tis worth 
A handful less than gun's report. 
I care not for the racing game, 
Nor want connection with the same. 

The mountaineer who lately had 
Indulged in marrying the Widow, 
His heart still going pit-a-pat. 
Compared her to a blooming meadow: 
Where horses and the cattle browse 
In sight of colonnaded house. 

'Come here you Mary Margaret 
And let me dandle you awhile.' 
*No, said the child, I'd like to sit 
Upon a horse and ride a mile.' 
A diminutive Bluegrass belle. 
Enchanted through prevailing spell. 

The mountain scenery though rough. 
The lonely cabin rudely built, 
The lightning striking near the bluff. 
And bear or two he lately killed: 
Were all remembered with a sigh 
And brought some moisture to his eye. 

The proud young fellow Chester Ames 
Was homesick surely for awhile. 
'Come here,' said Maida, blessed names 
Of saints appearing in her smile. 
She yielded to her lover's wish. 
And settled matters with a kiss. 

When Maida understood they left 
For the rude cabin right away. 
The maid called Pearl could make a shift- 
So she averred and pass a day. 
'We're coming back again, the wife 
And mother called, if we're alive.' 



The Diary of Ada Brown 

The mountaineers came rushing down, 
A torrent on a peaceful town: 
They yelled for Taylor to a man; 
Their guns were loaded, and their plan 
Was through a show of threatening force 
To hail him Governor of course. 

Were he but Governor in name, 

Their threatened rush would be a shame: 

But he was Governor in fact; 

All the hill counties helped elect 

This man, and neither Goebel should — 

Nor Beckham thwart them in their mood. 

Here was a feud with all the prime 
Accessories a feud required. 
Making with all the speed desired 
A perfect tragedy on time. 

The time was winter, and the ground 
In snowy mantle had been wound: 
The birthday of Our Lord was passed; 
The hills and rivers all were classed 
With peace on earth, good will to man: 
When this wild deviltry began. 

It is a curious fact that one, 

A fair young woman should alone 

Take strenuous interest in these scenes: 

Her sympathy to Goebel leans; 

For her old father fought with Lee; 

And cherishing his memory, 

The old Confederate life received 

Her praise: — was loyally believed. 

'I recollect how Murril Brown — 

She wrote: was honored in this town.' 

It was the Civil War again 
In mimicry upon the plain 
That honored Frankfort as a town; 
Like as when noble Lincoln fell. 
So sounded now the funeral bell 
For Goebel, fair Kentucky's own. 



38 A Last Token 



We quote this passage from the book, 
That Ada such delight in took. 

With no acknowledged leadership, 

The hill contingent with a hip 

And wild hurrah had entered town; 

The greatest courtesy was shown: 

Taylor was seated in his chair 

Of State but with a troubled air: 

For Hazelrigg, his enemy. 

As the Supreme Court Judge you see 

Denounced the act and called him down; 

Ordered his friends to leave the town; 

And with a fine judicial air, 

Did of the 'Goebel Law' declare: 

That it was passed and dominant; 

And illustrated the intent 

Of dominant Democracy. 

The mountains in conspiracy 

Have entered town; and I declare — 

Said the great Judge, that Taylor's share 

As leader of this villainy. 

Looks badly for his liberty. 

The Court, its dignity and aim 
Inclined towards the Goebel claim. 

The colonnaded Capitol, 

Where Marshall's eloquence did roll 

In fiery sentences around; 

Where Clay and Breckinridge were found: 

Bramlette and Eobinson as well; 

Familiar with the Eebel yell 

From field where Zollicoffer fell; 

With Rousseau and with General Buell: — 

Was now a wild political school; 

With all its dignity and name 

But echoes of a former fame. 

We'll quote again from Ada's book, 
As being entitled to a look. 

The Executive Mansion bore 
The imprint of a hostile hand. 
Looked something like a foreign land 
With soldiers standing at the door: 



The Diary of Ada Brown 39 



Armed to the teeth and with a loud 
Imperious challenge to the crowd. 

Disconsolately she her head 
That night upon th*"* pillow laid, 
And slept and had a fearful dream: 
Goebel was murdered was the theme; 
And Taylor with his mountain men 
Viewed the remains and drew him in. 

In wild alarm when Ada woke 
She rose, and gazed upon the street; 
Listened for sounds and hurrying feet: 
But not a sound the silence broke. 
The State House Square, the State House stoop 
Were wholly vacant; not a group 
Warmed up the wintry landscape scene: 
Nothing whatever to be seen. 

Only some mountaineers in rough 
Attire — though picturesque enough. 
Were further down: their noisy talk 
Beaching her hearing in their walk. 
These though an object of alarm. 
More in the nature of a charm 
Appeared; they looked so harmless then; — 
And Ada quietly went in. 

She had her breakfast, combed her hair, 
And looked again upon the Square. 

*As I was sitting in my room 
And looking towards Lewis Street, 
I saw Jack Chinn about to meet 
With Goebel — going to his doom. 
The pair were walking slowly on. 
When suddenly a shot rang out: 
Hardly a soul was then about; 
And Goebel, staggering, fell upon 
The solitary walk; his blood 
Staining his garments and the mud. 

As Chinn stood looking at his friend — 
Seeming as dazed — a helpless man, 
Some dozen men towards them ran 
Shouting, and willing to befriend. 



40 A Last Token 



They carried Goebel in between 

Them all to Kagin's restaurant; 

He tried to make them understand 

How it occurred; but here the scene 

Of course was visible no more, 

As the whole crowd went through the door. 

'Then came a mob of mountain men, 
One with a pistol in his hand, 
A most unsympathizing band: 
Swearing and laughing now and then. 
I heard myself a wretch declare 
That God and Politics were there; 
He said it in a jeering tone, 
Lingered a moment and was gone. ' 

From Kagin's restaurant the crowd 
Bore Goebel to the Capitol, 
Where Hazelrigg — good loyal soul! 
Him as the Governor avowed. 
Handed a Bible to the man. 
Whose darkened eyes could scarcely scan 
What he was holding in his hand: — 
And Goebel vanished from the land. 

After the verdict from the Court, 
The mountain men had left in part: 
Their own affairs compelled a start; 
Although a few of wilder sort 
Still toted pistols through the town. 
And viewed proceedings with a frown. 

After the funeral was o'er 

A day — perhaps a little more, 

A tall and bearded mountaineer: 

The very figure for a feud. 

His oath to Taylor then renewed. 

Why he should do so is not clear; 

He calmly viewed the State House Square 

And vanished, going anywhere. 

Thus perished Goebel in his prime; 
The greatest statesman of his time 
In the Kentucky Commonwealth. 
His taking off was widely felt. 
Denounced — defended — as the state 



The Diary of Ada Brown 41 



Of mind inclined to love or hate, 

It penetrated every home 

And heart like Ca?sar's death at Eome. 

The Montagues and Capulets, 

Mixed Vi\} with pretty Juliets, 

Caused a commotion in their day; 

Here was a similar array 

Of family feuds and border feuds, 

That echoed through the mournful woods: 

Filling innumerable graves 

With dead, the resting place of braves. 

Beckham, the gentlemanly youth 
Whom Ada took an interest in, 
Began his elegant pursuit 
Of politics as next of kin: 
He was the heir. And Hazelrigg, 
With a fresh hold upon his wig. 
Gave him his title to the name 
Of Governor and future fame. 

The next thing was the Fuqua girl. 
Which put all Frankfort in a whirl; 
To Owensboro for a bride 
Did the young Beckham homewards ride. 
A Bluegrass filly, thoroughbred: 
With a long pedigree that led 
Back to the mother of us all 
Called Eve, and most divinely tall. 

'Our best society to her took, 

Ada imagined in her book. 

Like whisky aged for family use; 

More piquant than a mountain ruse, 

When ambuscading forces lie 

In wait and someone has to die.' 

Though half in mourning was her heart. 

And half in doubt remained her mind, 

Ada resolved to play her part, 

And left the bride not far behind. 

At the Eeception Ada shone 

Almost as well as anyone. 

She was presented to the Bride. 



42 A Last Token 



Her mother's sentimental side 
Was also gratified as well, 
When Beckham talking to her fell; 
And with an almost filial air 
Drew eyes and honors to her chair. 

The Ball! a crowd from Louisville, 
The Pennyroyal and the hill 
Was present in the happy town: 
Frankfort the scene of great renown. 
All through the night the music blared; 
The lights continuously glared; 
Perfumes from dresses and from flowers, 
Suggested Oriental bowers; 
And Beckham, dancing with his bride. 
Prom none his happiness could hide. 
He also danced with Ada when 
The dawn came nearly peeping in. 

And summing up the general view 
That the fair writer from it drew: 
* Omit the dresses and the flowers, 
Omit the passing of the hours. 
Still Washington at social height 
Couldn 't outdo Frankfort on that night. ' 

'Tis not the Ehine, and yet the river 
Called the Kentucky may deliver 
Some most romantic scenery; 
From Cincinnati on a boat, 
Or Louisville in auto coat 
Are pretty hills and greenery; 
You travel through a purer air 
Than the smoke ridden cities bear. 

Frankfort is not unpicturesque, 
There are some hills around the town; 
Nor is the city overgrown. 
Nor is its commerce very brisk. 
What it was built for is the grand 
And noble right to rule the land. 
For what with Lincoln as a son 
Of old Kaintuck in Washington; 
And Davis also from the State 
The South 's affairs to regulate: 
The glamour of these mighty names 



The Diary of Ada Brown 43 



Causes confusion in its aims. 
The Goebel Law and Taylor's guns 
Combine to educate its sons. 

The whims and vagaries of mind 
And lapses of the memory, 
The birthright of a fair lady: 
Leave man, her equal, far behind. 

And Ada's mother had been born 
In Breathitt county of a morn: 
And feuds were at her fingers' tips. 
And names of outlaws on her lips. 

The Strongs were on the Federal side 
When Civil War did State divide; 
While the bold Amys helped the South, 
Though in the end were beaten out. 
The Hargis and the Callahan, 
And many another fighting man. 
And many a fight and bloody feud 
She knew and told when in the mood. 

The mountain country knew her name. 
And did respect this Southern dame: 
For it could trust her in a feud; 
She mediated in pursuit; 
And offered money or advice — 
The man who sought her in disguise. 

The Hatfields and McCoys had seen 
Her acting as a go between; 
Also the French and Eversole 
Petitioned that the worthy soul 
Would sit in judgment on their feuds: 
Like as a Portia of the woods. 

Eest ye ye mountain fighting men! 
And still remember that akin 
You are to people on the plain; 
You may be peaceable again. 
You may develop yet the height. 
That like a flower in the light 
Will be admired for beauty, where 
Of late but rifles flashed in air. 



44 A Last Token 



As for the Fugitive abroad, 

How fared he with his heavy load? 

Taylor on Indiana ground, 

Was recognized by Governor Mound. 

Jim Howard, Youtsey and a score 
Of other gentlemen — or more: 
Were either hiding in the hills. 
Or busy with their various wills: 
Not knowing but the sheriff might 
Cut loose, and hang them on a night; 
While Caleb Powers raised his hand 
To heaven and pardon did demand. 

Of course the winter now was gone; 
The hills more beautiful and blue. 
Looked charming from a distant view: 
Themselves would fascinate alone. 

Parties from Louisville came up 
To Frankfort on a boating trip; 
And the great plain with finest farms, 
A rolling country with its charms: 
Home of the famous thoroughbred; 
The negro with his woolly head; 
The man with domineering mind, 
And woman fairest of her kind. 

And this is Paradise you say? 
Nonsense! here storms have also sway; 
Eead but the record of some proud 
Old family with wealth endowed: 
And melancholy traits appear 
Of troubles and the hidden tear. 
In Ada's glimpses of the town 
You'll find it gently written down. 

A fine appearing robust man. 
With an immensity of plan 
For betterment of human life: 
One day in Frankfort did arrive. 
And Ada in her Diary wrote: 
*0h! for possession of a vote; 
I am a Democrat and can 
Not sympathize with other men.' 



The Diary of Ada Brown 45 



'Twas William Jennings Bryan, clad 
In rustic joy and oratory; 
He captured Frankfort witli a story: 
And Beckham with the silver fad. 

That elegant young gentleman, 

Was fascinated with the plan 

The silver orator proposed: 

To lay at last the Taylor ghost. 

' 'Tis victory or death to me, 

And you can't ignore it you see.' 

And it is true at any rate: — 

Bryan and Beckham swept the State. 

'We went to Breathitt 'tother day. 
Writes Ada in a genial way: — 
To Jackson where my uncle lives; 
My ma in family believes. 
And uncle Bennett also fought 
With the Confederates as he ought. 

Six tall young fellows shook my hand, 
All cousins of the mountain brand; 
While Lucy — whom I met before, 
Kissed me a dozen times or more. 
Mother and Mary — uncle 's wife, 
Kept the whole neighborhood alive 
With talk: — vay mother likes to talk; 
While I indulged in country walk. 

This Jackson was the County seat. 
And in appearance was as neat 
As Frankfort: and I was surprised. 
Nor did I notice any man 
Who fighting on the streets began, 
Nor other deviltry devised; 
Both men and women frankly took 
My hand, and heartily it shook. 

Not many negroes in the place; 
There's small encouragement for race 
Of woolly heads in mountain land. 
The cattle climb the steepest hill; 
The apples go to cider mill: — 
Light duties for the native hand; 
While here and there a school is seen, 
Or picturesque church within the green.' 



46 A Last Toke n 



Old fashioned was the Frankfort home, 
Where often visitors would come, 
Where Ada and her mother dwelt; 
Both mother and the daughter were 
Not lacking in the worldly share 
Of what is called in German 'gelt': 
A modest little fortune — true. 
But yet enough the pair to do. 

The touches of refinement given 
To rooms, when by the fury driven 
That fills a woman in a home; 
Also the dresses of the girl, 
Her own, — the Singer in a whirl: — 
Kept the old lady in a foam. 
Though Ada with a helping hand 
Might truly have the fairy's wand. 

'Our servant girl is just a duck: 
Ada commented on their luck 
In that delightful book of hers; 
Amantus of the woolly locks. 
A perfect Samson with my frocks 
And skirts when washing day occurs. 
I'm filled with pity for the man 
Who'll marry Manty — if he can.' 

It was a gloomy day, for rain 

Was drenching Frankfort once again, 

When tinkle tinkle went the bell; 

Amantus rested for a spell, 

Walked to the door with ponderous step 

And asked the visitor: 'What's upf 

'Tis Elmer Strong, I know his voice: 
Has he been fighting with the boys?' 
And the old lady left the room. 
In a few seconds more the gloom 
Was deepened more, when all returned 
To where in grate a coal fire burned. 

The Breathitt county mountaineer, 
To more advantage did appear 
When he was sitting in a chair; 
Though he was big he had the air 
Of being intelligent and bright: 



The Diary of Ada Brown 47 



The figure for a legal fight; 
And such undoubtedly he was: 
A lawyer of the better class. 

*And did I bring the rain along, 

And memories of feud and wrong 

Miss Ada, to your pretty town? 

Also the memories of war. 

And paling of your Southern star: 

By both our fathers written down? 

I knew your father Ada; sure! 

I knew him well through mountain tour. ^ 

'And you were on the Federal side, — 
At least your family: replied 
Ada's fair mother at this point; 
And you will doubtless think it wrong 
Our singing even Dixie's song: 
And your fine feelings disappoint. 
Sing 'Dixie' Ada: sing it good 
And loud and warm his Federal blood. ' 

And it was done. Harmonious sound 
From the piano rolled around: 
With the soprano of the maid. 
Amantus with her deeper tones 
Suggested banjo and the bones: — 
Her offering in kitchen paid; 
While the old lady's voice in clear 
Loud tones in chorus did appear. 

'I've turned your music for you, said 

The mountain man to rebel maid, 

And I demand a kiss as toll. ' 

'Aye, and will you 'prison me in gaol, 

Ada with mischief in her eyes 

Enquired: for saying I despise 

Your offered aid in such a case, 

And wish you absent from the place?' 

Seizing his hat he walked before 
Mother and daughter to the door; 
'I'll see you later Mrs. Brown 
When I am settled in this town. ' 
And pointing to the girl, he gave 
His hand a kiss with parting wave: 



48 A Last Token 



'Let her remain Confederate 

I am sufficient for the State.' 

And passing through the door, the rain 

And gloom took hold of him again. 

The whims and vagaries of mind 
And lapses of the memory, 
The birthright of a fair lady. 
Leave man her equal far behind. 

'I may yet marry him, who knows?' 
She was preparing for repose; 
And with her shoes and stockings off 
And slippers on, found time enough 
To seize her pen and write it down. 
She looked quite pretty in her gown 
Of white, becoming when the light 
Is doused and Slumber rules the night. 

Being a religious minded maid, 
Her evening prayers were duly said; 
And she might dream of love and law, 
And all objections to'm withdraw. 

The lawyer, settled in the town. 
And popular and widely known, 
Made calls on Ada, and the which 
The cook's vocabulary did enrich. 

*Dat man 'as got de biggest feet. 
An' biggest head an' shiniest teeth: 
Oh Lawd! an' he's Ada's beau; 
Dar is dat nigger Dick, he'll go 
Out ov his way wif dat ar hack 
He drives to funerals wid, and pack 
Dat mountain feller to his rooms. 
Somfing afoh dat nigger looms.' 

The heart of woman and her soul! 
What mortal, eager to control 
Her love and her religious side, 
Can here so evenly divide, 
As to allow her freest range 
Of will and not himself estrange. 



The Diary of Ada Brown 49 



'And so, Ts^rote Ada in her book, 
My future wears a rosy look 
For I am promised as a wife; 
I have been taken to his heart 
Like as it were a mountain part. 
That is to lead to future strife: 
When bullets and the ambuscade 
Are lurking in the forest shade.' 

Her mother taking her in hand, 
The outfit of the girl was planned: 
With wedding dress of mousseline; 
With orange blossoms in her hair. 
And roses in her hand — as fair: 
And day as fine as e'er was seen. 
Not even Beckham in his pride 
Of heart led forth a fairer bride. 

'And we were married in the church. 
Elmer is sitting on the perch 
Of fame already in this town: 
For Daughters of Confederacy, 
Took it to heart that General Lee 
Might have his picture taken down; 
At least my bridesmaid, Mable Cross, 
Whispered her fear of such a loss.' 

The fears of Daughters of the South, 
Of a Eepublican breaking out. 
And closing of their Chapter's doors: 
Surpassed the golf and tennis scores — 
And hunting of the wily fox. 
Even the hand that cradle rocks. 
Trembled indignantly at thought 
That such a mischief might be wrought. 

The mountain man with simple plan 
For living peacefully in town: 
Settled with Ada's mother down. 
And a new household life began. 

'Here am yo's pictur in de Times 
Miss Ada wif de Gov'ner's wife; 
Hit don't look nuffin like de life. 
Dat ar reporter feller climbs 
Up fom de waist to reach yo'r head, 
And makes yo look like mountin bred.' 



50 A Last Token 



*I told Amantus: never mind; 
That Louisville was far behind 
Our Bluegrass artists in that line; 
Even the Mountains reached to fine 
And picturesque effects that way, 
Not to be caught so far away.' 

'Manty, writes Ada in her book, 

Is a most estimable cook, 

And she is mother's helping hand; 

But she don't like the mountain land; 

I must conciliate a bit 

Or household peace will take a flit.' 

After her marriage to the man 

Of law, his family did plan 

To pay a visit to the town; 

And Breathitt 's character make known, 

When something in the wind appeared 

Like this, as nothing to be feared. 

With all the dignity of mien 
That may in Southern dames be seen, 
The Hill contingent was received. 
And social triumph was achieved. 

Both Ada and her mother wrang 
More hands, and dark Amantus sang 
More Dixies in that day or two. 
Than writer of the verses knew. 

Imagine Elmer 's father tall 
And strong, delighted with it all, 
And dancing animated jig; 
While the old lady near as big, 
Walloped some pickaninnies sound. 
Who open mouthed hung around. 

At last the clan, or family 
Eeturned again, and did agree 
That Frankfort was a pretty town. 
But mountain scenes were better known. 
Hang up the fiddle and the bow 
Old gent and vanish with the show. 
Thus closed this dreaded interview 
Almost before the town it knew. 



The Diary of Ada Brown 51 



Blessed is the woman with a man 

Who so appreciate her can 

That he is tolerant of whim: 

Who views her with a humor grim 

When she departs from train of thought 

And act that sets his will at nought. 

* Birth of my baby now is near, 

Writes Ada in the following year: 

I have a feeling that a joy 

Is coming; will it be a boy? 

Or will a daughter with her charms 

Linger forever in my arms. ' 

Between her mother and her maid, 
The hand of Fortune on her laid 
The task of caring for a boy; 
The finer feelings we enjoy 
Were now entangled with the life 
Of the young mother and the wife. 

The lawyer took a practical view 
Of the event, as was his due. 
'The Federal and Confederate lies 
So long repeated by the wise, 
About the valor of the South, 
And North that snuffed its candle out. 
Are here refuted: for this son 
Of mine his journey has begun.' 

Now came the naming of the boy, 
A thing the household did enjoy, 
For Mountain and the Bluegrass plain 
Were fighting battles o'er again. 

Amantus, ever in the front, 
Was for postponing it a month; 
But finally they wrote it down 
In book as Harold Jason Brown. 
'The name, writes Ada, was allowed, 
And later in the church avowed.' 

The Strongs were thorough Lincoln men, 
Fought when the Civil War began, 
Favored McKinley and the North: 
Nor much resorting to a court 
Settled their quarrels with the gun, — 
Being typical of mountain men. 



52 A Last Token 



Another episode was near 
That in the annals would appear 
Of a long standing mountain feud: 
When Marcum at the Court House door 
Of Jackson settled for the score 
Of others, dying where he stood. 
The bullet from an ambuscade 
Another mountain widow made. 

Passiag from Jackson to the town 
Of Frankfort, where it soon was known, 
Elmer indulged in game of guess 
With the old lady on the dark 
Assassin aiming at his mark: 
'This was a feud of business.' 

Ada to sentiment inclined; 
While the old lady bore in mind 
That Marcum being Republican, 
Might be the target for a man 
Who worsted in the voting booth 
Made him the object of a feud. 

Then Elmer from his knowledge gave 
A leap towards the hidden knave: 
'Was it Curt Jett or was it White? 
Come now — he argued with the night, 
Pacing the chamber to and fro: 
One or the other is I know.' 
And almost leaping in his coat 
Seemed as if making for the road. 
But Ada gently took her spouse 
By arm and kept him in the house. 

'And we all know that Curtis Jett — 
Ada her writing didn't forget, — 
Had guilty knowledge of the crime, 
Though he kept hidden for a time. 
And that imprisonment for life 
Was given him for bullet's drive. 

'And I am sorry writing this. 

For my own mother cousin is 

To Jett's own mother: and the chills 

Come over me at thought of hills.' 



The Diary of Ada Brown 53 



The curtain of the future rose 
Not on Kentucky and her woes; 
Nor would the glamour of the day 
Show forth till troubles were away. 

The Fugitive was still abroad; 
His wife had died: and added load 
Was added to his sorrows where 
He breathed Indiana air. 

Frankfort familiar with the life 
Of Taylor and his gentle wife, 
Pictured the dark appearing man, 
With Finley, brooding over plan 
Of a restoring of their power: 
That might yet happen any hour. 

What with McKinley in the land, 
And Eoosevelt posing for the stand: 
The sleep of Ada lighter grew 
And horizon took darker hue. 

She had a place for Taylor's wife. 
Her picture in the Album showed; 
McKinley also was allowed; 
But nothing further might survive 
In Ada's fiery Southern heart 
Than this, this merely social part. 



Epilogue 

A brother lawyer in the town 

That Elmer was acquainted with, 

A man of national renown: 

'This gentleman, he thought, may flit 

From bar to Executive chair. 

And pardon those who now despair.' 

His views were all Eepublican; 

From Justice Harlan whom the State 

Kegarded as a leading man, 

To Willson as a candidate: 

Did Elmer Strong review the field, 

And knew the Democrats must yield. 



54 A Last Token 



The legal structure of his mind 
Delighted in a reign of law, 
Wherein the weaker were to find 
Protection and without a flaw; 
And it is to the credit of 
Kentucky that it tries enough. 

And with this sequel to the tale, 
The gentle reader may bewail 
Or find a pleasure in the acts; 
Lumping the fiction with the facts: 
For surely all these incidents 
Were known to Frankfort's residents. 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 

In an old house in Louisville, 
Not very far from where the boats 
Take on the freight that comes in loads, 
A soldier may be living still, 
A soldier of the Civil War: 
Whose past, romantic in so far 
As it concerned his inner man, 
Often the gossips starting 'gan. 

Old furniture and odds and ends: 
His mother's or departed friends; 
Old books and journals that he kept, 
Into his very being crept; 
For he delighted in the past, 
And held it tolerably fast. 

When you are living in a town, 

And to the people of it known; 

Some of the people, like the clown 

Of Dudley ville or Dudleytown: 

You feel relieved. Your name is classed 

With the giraffe; nor wholly passed 

E'en when the whole menagerie roars; 

There's recognition at the doors 

For your cognomen, though the hand 

May pound out bravos to the band. 

Having thus introduced the man 
Whose memoranda serves our tale, 
We'll weigh the items in the scale, 
And make them useful for the plan. 

He was already growing old; 
His mother had the sweetest heart, — 
When he considered her apart, — 
That a selection from the fold 
Of saints in Paradise could name. 
And Fate and Fortune were to blame 
That sorrows wrung that gentle heart. 
And losses pierced it with a dart. 

The city was in gala dress: 
For the Grand Army of the North, 
Held an Encampment of the sort 
That was an annual business. 



56 A Last Token 



There might be sentiment at heart; 
There might be stretching of the hand 
Towards inferiors in the land: 
But it was straining on their part; 
And Johnson, though a soldier, stood 
Apart in criticising mood. 

Like Boswell following the Pride 
Of Britain in his own despite, 
And watchful of his slightest act; 
Making him partner to the pact, 
That he should suffer for his deeds 
In life and serve the public needs: — 
Our imitative narrative 
May also stand a chance to live. 

With his old mother by his side, 

Johnson was swallowed by the tide 

Of restless people on the streets; 

Broadway looked like a county fair, 

With booths and bunting everywhere, 

And rows of elevated seats. 

Here the procession was to march. 

Though burning sun their throats should parch. 

On a hot clear September day. 
The city generally gay. 
The Army filed into the town; 
No longer armed for drill or fight. 
Merely a picture to the sight: 
As 'Posts' more generally known. 

Behold reviewing stands put up; 
Behold the banner of the free 
Waving from steeple and from tree: 
From houses and from everywhere. 
Pictures of heroes of the war. 
Great names that glittered like a star, 
And signs of gladness all were there: 
With 'Welcome' rising to the top. 

Vast was the throng that gathered there; 
They came from city homes, from towns 
Far to the souch of Churchill Downs: 
Across the river — anywhere. 
And Johnson and his mother gazed 
Till full, and equally amazed. 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 57 



All was prepared; a million feet 

Seemed to be treading Broadway's street: — 

A Boulevard of great extent; 

And on a section of it passed 

The Posts, that had for hours been massed, 

A feat that nothing could prevent: 

For the 'Grand Army' like the soul 

Of old John Brown had answered roll. 

On with a hundred bands they came, 

The strong the feeble and the lame, 

And marched some fifty thousand men 

In warlike panoply again; 

Their tattered banners borne aloft, 

Their step as martial as of yore: 

While cheers went up and hats were doffed 

And Welcome waved from every door. 

Perhaps a half a million souls 

Were lined in Broadway on that day; 

So famed those honorable rolls 

Of names, so gallant the display. 

Then Colonel Bluegrass threw his doors 
Wide open to the Yankee hosts; 
Laying the old Confederate ghosts 
To rest on mountains and on moors. 
His purse was open, cellar full; 
And every soldier had a pull: 
Shaking his hospitable hand 
Like as a comrade of the band. 

As was the Colonel so his wife. 
Forgetful of the civil strife; 
The Gait House, famous hostelry, 
Was alive with social gayety; 
And handsome maids and comely dames 
Made musical the Yankee names. 
Wearing at balls their finest dresses, 
Doing in natty shapes their tresses: 
And in a lively feminine way 
Making successful the display. 

Shall we not pay attention to 

The Legion boys, who perished through 

A military accident? 

Five hearses winding through the streets; 



58 



A Last Token 



Five homes where melancholy meets 
The near relation or the friend. 
Thus ended through a tragic fate 
The great Encampment in the State. 

*As a religious spectacle, 
Said Johnson's mother to her son: 
After the veterans were gone, 
'Twas not a bit commendable; 
For not a Bible nor a Cross 
Was visible the lines across.' 

*Well but dear mother, said her son, 
Can you expect a warlike hand 
To spread religion through the land 
When daily handling a gun? 
Bibles and Crosses rarely save 
A soldier from a soldier's grave.' 

Then the old lady knelt before 
A little shrine she had at home; 
Keligion, j)atterned after Rome, 
She had abundantly in store. 
There was the Virgin clad in white; 
Jesus and Margaret in sight: 
And holy water in a glass. 
The candlestick with Easter palm; 
The rosary for evening calm, 
And prayer book for requiem mass. 
And lifting up her soul to God, 
Sank in a manner to the sod. 

One Sunday after church was o'er: — 
'Mother, said Johnson at the door, 
Will you go with me to the Park, 
Or stay at home till after dark?' 
And the old lady gently said 
She'd stay at home, not being afraid. 

Almost as fine as Gettysburg — 
Top of the Hill in Jacob's Park; 
The hills all forest clad — a mark; 
The valleys deep between — a curve: 
The climber needs a steady nerve. 
And the grand view is all around. 
Follow the horizon and bound 
Your topography of the burg. 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 59 



The landscape artist has his light 
Hid under bushel, out of sight: 
For the rough mass of Kenwood hill 
Looks better in its natural state, — 
Perhaps he follows it of late, — 
Than when subjected to his skill. 

Then Johnson rambled to the north, 
Where gazing downwards on the plain, 
His eyes saw Louisville again: 
A picture of a different sort. 

'You look so large and look so fine, 
That I must rub these eyes of mine: — 
Johnson turned westwards to the sun: 
Your march from winter has begun, 
Hence this effect; for spring is now 
Painting the hills and plain below.' 

Johnson had brought along a friend, 
And brought his talking to an end; 
And ere preparing to descend. 
Hearkened a moment to the sound 
Of music from below; the pound 
Of horses' hoofs upon the road; — 
The auto also was abroad; — 
And then the homewards ride began 
Of Johnson and the other man. 

About this time the Spanish war. 
Threatened before McKinley rose; 
Though he as all the country knows 
Was followed as its guiding star; 
As such upon the sea began, 
And it attracted many a man. 

Said the old lady to her son, 
'Don't you go bothering me none: 
I care not for the Si)anish War. 
This country is all Protestant; 
This country has no sentiment. 
Or none that's visible so far. 
Stay you at home and help support 
Your mother with your Catholic sword.' 



60 A Last Token 



Thus when the Spanish War began, 
Like many another veteran 
Survivor of the Civil War: 
Johnson remembered family; 
And neither fought on land nor sea, 
Eeligious scruples being a bar. 

But he was working for his bread, 
And had a notion in his head 
That he was helping Government; 
For with sagacity of mind 
He saw the animus behind 
The purpose of the war — its end: 
The grabbing for material goods 
By Statesmen in commercial moods. 

Johnson was working in a place 
Where something like a thousand men 
Enjoyed the pleasures of the chase; 
It was for instance to begin. 

They chased the dinner pail when full, 
They chased it when 'twas empty quite: 
And when a millionaire in sight 
Appeared they chased him like a bull. 

The Firm — machinery and steel — 
Being eager to extend its trade, 
Its future preparations made, 
To keep upon an even keel 
Its credit and its bank account; 
The tax and wages that amount 
To a great sum within the year: 
Whereof few workingmen do hear. 

This Labor Union brotherhood, 
Thought Johnson to himself, looks good; 
To me a worker is a brother; 
I'll join and after tell my mother. 

When the Committee at his bench 
Appeared, it simply had a cinch. 

< Brother, said Braeme, the glorious cause 
For which our Union's going to strike, 
Is to establish Union laws. 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 61 



And to drive home a Union spike. 
Brother, the Union and the laws 
Prevail, come on and join our cause.' 

.Johnson said 'Yes;' and marched along, 
Making the strike a thousand strong. 

Johnson went home and told his motherj 
And the old lady took another 
Eeligious kneeling at the shrine, 
For she believed in help Divine. 

'Preserve your independent spirit, 
Said the old lady to her son: 
'Tis not by fighting with the gun, _ 
Nor stuffing with the gold that merit 
Obtains a footing in this land, 
But rather through the moral stand.' 

The strike endured for half a year; 
And when called off the Firm had lost 
A half a million, counting cost: 
While half the men did disappear. 

Nor while the strike was going on 
Did Johnson sever his connection; 
No charge against him of defection 
The brotherhood could gaze upon. 
But he retired when over with, 
Enduring, suffering a bit. 

Fortunes and sentiments all change 
With time as night succeeds the day, 
Or rather as another range 
Is seen in mountains far away: 
Which when the traveler draws near, 
Stand forth all rugged, vast and clear. 

The Spanish War had reached an end; 
Only the Philippines kept on. 
Where Aguinaldo fought the trend 
Of things McKinley had begun. 

Cuba might also have a dream 
Of freedom in her mountain heart, 
Where Gomez lingered, and the art 



62 A Last Token 



Of war stood chances to redeem: 
But these disturbances abroad 
Were little felt, so light the load. 

More and more millionaires were born, 
Less and less money Johnson had; 
The poor house with its views forlorn 
Kose up whene'er he went to bed; 
Still Johnson was a lively man. 
And he felt happy now and then. 

Invited by the Southern maids 

And matrons domiciled in town, 

The soldiers of the South made known 

Their purpose, acting through their Aides 

Connected with the South, and half 

Inclined to fighting in behalf 

Of Davis in the Civil War: 

Thus Louisville appeared from far. 

Hence were its sympathies in line 

With this, too brief account of mine. 

The 'Daughters of the Confederacy' 
Washed off the Monument, and then 
Went visiting commercial men; 
Expressed their sentiments in verse, — 
Could Henry Watterson do worse? — 
And waited in expectancy. 

Confederate flags began to fly. 
The bands played 'Dixie' day and night: 
The John Hunt Morgan men were spry 
As when they put the foe to flight; 
And Bragg might lead an army now, 
And Lee wear laurels on his brow. 

When the first suit of butternut. 
And soft felt hat remembered well, 
In county its appearance put: 
All Louisville was under spell; 
They went to meeting with a band 
The man and shook him by the hand. 

The great 'Confederate Hall' had been 

Erected on the river's bank; 

The sights that from the bluff were seen 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 63 



In many a simple soldier sank. 
Like the Macgregor with his foot 
On native heath, the soldier stood 
And looked at Indiana's shore; 
The earmarks of the Hoosier bore 
The parent mark from Washington, 
And the Confederate wanted none. 

I recollect, wrote Johnson when 
He found some leisure for his pen, 
And used it to a good effect: 
How the Confederates did elect 
Their officers for coming year. 
An old Confederate Brigadier, 
With hair and beard as white as snow, 
Keviewed the war, with fiery glow 
Of language; which a limping gait 
Caused through a wound did further aid. 
Talk about Lost, no Cause that lived 
A more tumultuous cheer received. 

The taj) of drum and bugle sound 
Sometimes did through the Hall resound; 
While Sponsors and their Maids in white 
Like brides to be, a pleasing sight, 
Smiled at the pictures on the walls, 
Carried Confederate flags to balls, 
And in a thousand charming ways 
Gave the Lost Cause in hearts a place. 

Rain spoiled our beautiful parade, 
Casting Our Section in the shade. 
Remarked a lady from the South; 
They barbecued and told the talc, 
They also drank the beer and ale. 
Though not a drunkard was about. 

There always is a sequel to 

A tale, at least there ought to be. 

And the Confederates later — see 

Returned and when the skies were blue. 

When Grainger, Mayor of the town, 

And Beckham, Governor, both known 

As being Confederate sympathizers: 

Acted thereof as supervisors, 

And made that great Reunion known 

Almost as well as is the town. 



64 A Last Token 



With his old mother on his arm, 
Johnson went looking at the sights; 
The rain was warm, and dazzling lights 
Had rainbows added to their charm. 
"With Louisville in gala dress 
You'd think that business 'd be suspended; 
But no, from Commerce it descended, 
And it could be nor more nor less. 
The town is in its glory seen 
At such a time and such a scene. 

'Mother, said Johnson, when a calm 

Had settled like a healing balm 

Upon the great Confederate Hall: 

My father was a soldier tall 

And fighting on the Federal side; 

An Orderly, when Sheridan's Ride 

The country intimation gave, 

That this great soldier of the war 

Was worthy of a General's star: — 

A perfect leader of the brave. 

A bullet on the battlefield 

Laid low my father, and revealed 

How insignificant and low 

A private soldier's grave does show. 

Whoever heard of father's name, 

And who's concerned about his fame?' 

'Your father was a cavalry man. 
And you yourself an infantry man. 
Replied his mother, and the Lord 
Frowned I suppose upon his sword. 
War never is a blessing, though 
'Tis natural to fight a foe; 
And speaking of the family. 
Both parties were its enemy; 
The Lord permitting your return 
Is about all that I can learn.' 

He nodded with his head and walked 
To window while his mother talked. 

'The pension that I draw, began 
The dear old lady to the man 
Who gloried in the being her son, 
Is about all the war has won; 
Only to-day I paid my rent. 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 65 



And slyly glancing at the tall 
Old man who did her mother call: 
You sometimes fail to make a cent; 
You are so busy with your books 
That you forget how money looks.' 

With due humility of mind 

Did he submit, and fall behind 

His mother in the argument. 

'I'll make for you a many a cent, 

Said the old soldier; but I'm now 

So busy with the afterglow 

Of this Confederate event, 

That I can't bother with the cent.' 

The lamp stood on the table — lit; 
The evening paper had on dit 
All of the late society news, 
Contributory to the blues: 
Which the old lady never read. 
Nor even glanced at be it said. 

And yet she had a social bent 

As strong as any seen in print, 

When from her church some callers came 

Without announcement of a name; 

For never had her open door 

Harbored a maid to call them o'er. 

'There comes the Cincinnati boat,' 
Said the old lady, as the note 
Of the long whistle pierced the street: 
Bringing the people to their feet. 

A crowd of people going by, 
With negro porters in between. 
Making an animated scene: 
The moon low hanging in the sky. 

'This is enough, I'll go to bed.' 
And the old lady laid her head 
Upon the pillow; leaving John 
Her soldier son the house to run. 

From warlike memories recalled 
To civil life, the Templar hauled 



66 A Last Token 



From dusty nooks his sword and plume, 

And all importance did assume. 

A Conclave of the Templar men 

Had been arranged for Louisville; 

Prizes were offered for the drill, 

A spur to all its upper ten; 

And Coontown with the wildest glee 

Was bound that spectacle to see. 

There are ten thousand negro men 
And women in this Southern town, 
Not counting pickaninnies in; 
And Bonaparte McCready known 
All over town, as leading man, 
When dance or funeral began, 
For he was leader of the band: 
Was now in natural command. 

The Crusades are some distance off 
And have been written of enough, 
But the Knight Templar of to-day, 
In his regalia display. 
Is still an echo of the past, 
An actor of the tragic cast. 

Saint Bernard orator of France, 
And Eichard charging with his lance; 
The Moslem fighting on the plain, 
Taking Jerusalem again; 
And the long list of warlike Popes, 
Blessing the Pilgrim and his hopes: 
All these the Templar represented, 
With many others not presented, 
Shedding a lustre on his name 
Amounting to a durable fame. 

The Arch with Templar bedight, 
A brilliant spectacle at night. 
And rosy in the setting sun: 
Was centre of the great Parade, 
That almost threw into the shade 
What Louisville had gazed upon: 
When the Grand Army of the North, 
And the Confederates marched forth. 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 67 



What could the beauty of the town — 

Tie dames of social renown; 

And pretty girls who work by day 

In store or factory for pay — 

Do but observe a holiday; 

And make the loveliest display 

Of charms beneath the August sun, 

And dresses long ago begun. 

A scene whereof the Templar man 

Took note before the march began. 

Do not forget the colored belle, 
Awalking with the negro swell; 
As proud appearing in their mien. 
As interested in the scene; 
McCready and his colored band, 
Were also famous in the land; 
This was the general sentiment. 
Among the negro element. 

Eight where the City Hospital 

And Public School together meet, 

Did Johnson's mother find a seat; 

While the old soldier 'pearing tall 

Upon the sidewalk, overlooked 

The street whereon the march was booked. 

The gleaming swords and waving plumes, 
And airs the Templar assumes 
When he is marching with a band: 
Made deep impression on the crowd. 
Who pleasure in the sight avowed, 
And said the spectacle was grand. 

There might have been a hundred bands. 
And some were from the foreign lands; 
'My Old Kentucky Home' seemed played 
A thousand times ere route was made; 
The highest compliment this town 
Of Southern birth has ever known. 

What's this acoming? clear the way! 
The Colored Band in full array 
Of instruments was going by; 
And with a shako on his head 
Did Bonaparte McCready lead: 
His stafC a-twirling to the sky. 



68 A Last Token 



This was the climax and the end; 
And Johnson's mother did descend, 
And took a last and lingering look. 
Nor do we speak of banners here, 
Though hundreds of them did appear: 
Nor will we say who prizes took. 
These features will be better found 
Described in Memoirs that abound. 

A lighter heart, a home return, 

A cooling drink, and more to learn. 

*My Old Kentucky Home' how sweet 

And clear it sounds upon the street. 

Or lingers as a last adieu; 

The words and music of the song, 

Carry the memory along 

To homes and people that you knew. 

Thus mistily did Templar fade 

From Louisville into the shade. 

From Shawnee Park to Cherokee, 
The length of Louisville you'll see 
With its variety of life; 
The river front is left behind, 
The Silver Plills are borne in mind, 
With flower bed and pleasant drive. 

Johnson delighted in a stroll; 
He loved the beeches and the roll 
Of grassy land in Eastern Park. 
And he would tell his mother how 
The moon and evening star would glow, 
When home returning after dark. 

'Mother, said Johnson when the town 

Was once more working, settled down: 

There is a showy burial place 

In town, where people come to gaze 

And ramble round as in a park. 

Cave Hill is prominent, a mark 

For the religious sentiment. 

Inherent in our element. 

I entered with a crowd, and took 

A long and satisfying look.' 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 69 



' 'Tis a fine cemetery sure, 
Said the old lady, and the pure 
Delight of looking at the land, 
With a bit flower in the hand,- 
Seems to be womanly and deep 
Enough for prejudice to sleep. ' 

Then she as hastily returned 

To Catholic subjects; and she yearned 

For approbation in that line. 

As coming nearer the divine. 

' Our own Saint Louis cemetery 
Is far above the ordinary, 
A burial place and park as well. 
I'm sure there's rolling of the land. 
And trees, all adding to its grand 
Appearance like the funeral bell. 
And being our family's burying place 
Should move you to a double grace.' 

'And there's Saint Michael's, said her son. 
Where Beargrass creek winds hin and yon; 
And the wild patch of berry ground, 
Where apples also can be found.' 

But the old lady shook her head. 
Her soul and heart were with the dead; 
She cared not for the apples, nor 
For Beargrass creek or berries store. 

'Of course Saint Michael's, said his mother, 
That's where they bury Christian Brother, 
And Sister of the church, and Priest: 
There must be hundreds there at least. 
And once a year there's preaching there 
From pulpit in the open air; 
The place is crowded with the names 
Of those who had religious aims.' 

With deep respect did Johnson gaze 
Upon his mother's pleasant face. 
And he stooped over kissing her. 
'Don't you go kissing me, she said, 
I'll call the Virgin to my aid;' 
Nor did she long her prayers defer. 



70 A Last Token 



While the old soldier went below 
To where the river boats, and tow 
Of barges filled with coal were tied: 
And overhead the trains did glide. 

But there were rumors in the air 
Of something fine acoming there. 

The gallant General Carnahan, 
Who must have been an Irishman, 
Though we're not sure upon that point: 
Brought on the Pythian Brotherhood 
To Louisville in happy mood, 
From open revelry enjoined; 
For like the soldier in his camp 
Discipline marked them with its stamp. 

With Damon's head upon the block, 
And Pythias glancing at the clock 
The town was now in Syracuse; 
Sicilian was the general T,ir 
It bore, it met you everywhere: 
And to think other was no use. 
And there were country people there 
Who fancied Greeks were everywhere. 

In Shawnee Park the camp was pitched, 
The horses to the trees were hitched, 
And drills were order of the day. 
There also were the meals, and cook 
Was mentioned in the order book, 
With pots and kettles in array; 
For even Pythians must eat, 
Though smart appearing on the street. 

Given a river and a park. 
There's something doing after dark 
Through Cupid and his little bow; 
And half the maidens of the town 
Were so engaged, familiar grown 
With tents and boats and Pythian vow. 
This was delightful, and no man 
With heart in bosom blame them can. 

The calliope was blowing hard; 
The river organist by heart 
Could play that noted instrument; 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 71 



It even reached to Sliawnee Park, 
Where some opined a giant lark 
To the wild notes was giving vent; 
While others thcught the Island Queen 
Was due, and curtsied to scene. 

The river bends near Crescent Hill, 

And boats require a pilot's skill 

Before descending to the Falls. 

A lonely fisherman or two 

May heave in sight, and answer who 

Is there to any whistle calls. 

Of course some houses near the banks 

Appear, and boats with gangway planks. 

The gaudy Knights of Khorassan 

Shook off the calliope, and ran 

To join the Pythian parade; 

They marched awhile, and then the crowd 

Bore down, as Carnahan avowed: 

Their route of march not wholly made. 

This might be thought an accident, 

Or't might be called a compliment. 

Of course the bands and decorations 
Were in harmonious relations 
To summer time and pleasant scene; 
While Bonaparte McCready took 
His band around, till welkin shook 
With plaudits at his lofty mien. 
Break camp in Shawnee Park ye men 
Of Pythian fame and come again. 

We'll write no more of showy things. 
That should be rather sport of kings 
Than of a Democratic town; 
For the events we here relate. 
Took ten years happening in State, 
And gave the town a great renown. 

*The Board of Trade — Commercial Club, 
Wrote Johnson figuring it up, 
Were both responsible for this; 
Grand Army and Confederate, 
The Templar cleaving to his faith, 
And Pythian winning with a kiss. 
Aye! Louisville is sure a town 
Entitled to a fair renown.' 



72 A Last Token 



A. ride on ear to Shawnee Park, 

And home returning after dark 

Displayed the city as before. 

'The Pythians to their homes have gone.' 

Said Johnson in a gentle tone: 

His mother watchful as of yore. 

The autumn passed, the winter came, 
The aspect of his home the same: 
His mother praying at the shrine; 
She went to church a hundred times, 
Delighting in the joyous chimes, 
And in their melody divine. 

'My husband and my children are — 
Said the old lady, not so far 
Away from me when I am there. 
Nor is my father, and the life 
I recollect before the wife 
Had swallowed up a maiden fair.' 

Johnson submitted, for he loved 
His mother and was deeply moved. 

But he was now to bear a loss 
That like the rearing of the cross 
On Calvary would bring him down; 
This was his honored mother's death; 
Nor noticed he her parting breath, 
So gently had her spirit flown. 
He gave her burial as son 
Should do when so depended on. 

With melancholy in his heart 
Too deep to others to impart, 
Johnson kept working at his trade 
And a fair amount of money made. 

Later in life the government 
Him with a pension did present. 
'Pensions, said Johnson to the moon, 
May be or may not be a boon; 
But I must keep this little home. 
Where friendly visitors can come; 
Also a little niece of mine 
Who with my mother used to dine. 



The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 73 



His fondness for the Library 
Came through his love of History; 
And he resolved his Memoirs should 
Be added for the general good. 

Though old, thought Johnson to himself, 

I'm still no figure for the shelf; 

The fighting force is in my blood. 

I may yet grapple with a Hood, 

Or bring some Jackson to his knees, 

Fighting beneath the forest trees. 

'Twill be no matter for surprise 

If I should to a Colonel rise.' 



Epilogue 

The tragic death of Paul C. Barth 
Had just occurred; and broken heart 
Brought Captain Schneider to the end 
Of life through grieving for his friend. 

And the Saint Louis cemetery 
Was stirred beyond the ordinary, 
When Johnson, visiting his graves, 
Saw like the rushing of the waves 
On ocean shore, how people came 
To view these gentlemen of fame. 

The graves of both were visible, 

Or we may say invisible, 

Such the profusion and the wealth 

Of flowers that almost could be felt. 

The perfume of the flowers embraced 
The August sun and all amazed. 
Such on a Sunday afternoon. 
In fact till rising of the moon. 
Did mournful heart or curious eyes 
Contribute tear or bold disguise: 
Till from the hill of Castlewood — 
At foot of which he also stood — 



74 A Last Token 



The melanclioly hoot of owl, 
Or watchdog warning with a growl, 
Came deeper shadows of the night. 
Blotting all objects from the sight. 

When Johnson reached his home he penned 

This item also, with intent 

That it should close his Memories. 

* 'Tis not a spectacle to please, 

For it displays a furious state 

Of politics and party hate; 

But it has happened, and I'll write 

It down ere bidding you good night.' 

Thus through the lapsing of a year 
Or two this final does appear 



The North Woods 



Alone within the vastness of the woods, 
Where but the hunter surly in his moods, 
Or hardy chopper logging in his camp 
The mighty stillness deeper seem to stamp: 
Alone indeed for rarely are they seen, 
And miles on miles of forest grow between. 
The city man who dares to penetrate 
Alone this vastness surely tempts his fate; 
But with a hunter guide he is secure. 
And roughly clad may venture on a tour. 

He feels amazed and also feels oppressed. 
The world seems rude in such a garment dressed; 
Nothing but trees; no road nor house are seen. 
And bits of blue above and branches green. 
Perhaps some pine attracts his wandering eye 
Dwarfing the host of others growing nigh; 
Millions of cones and needles strew the ground. 
And balsam airs abundantly abound. 
Maples of fairest form, the massive oak 
And birches silver white some praise evoke; 
Varied and vast: — he starts with wild alarm. 
Grasping his grim protector by the arm; 
When harshly screams the eagle from its nest 
While boldly gazing at the reddening west. 
By night he 's grown familiar with the scene. 
And wants to know what various objects mean. 

Softly the twilight lingers in the sky, 
And light seems loath to leave and color die; 
The owl begins to hoot: 'tis really night, 
And gloom and terror seem to reach their height. 

The hunter is prepared: his camp is pitched 
Near to some mossy spring and water fetched; 
The novice in the woods has gathered fuel 
To cook by, and because the nights are cool; 
The fallen leaves are wisely scraped away. 
Giving the fire full liberty to play. 
The pine tree branches, resinous and dry 
Are used and soon the blaze is leaping high. 



76 A Last Token 



His stomach craves, he's hungry as a bear, 

And almost could the raw material tear; 

The hunter's rifle, aided by his own 

Brought while they rambled various creatures down. 

He notes the skill with which the hunter cooks 

Their evening meal, and trembling round him looks. 

The flaring fire fantastic shadows throws 

That flicker in and out among the boughs; 

And giant trunks and undergrowth appear 

In weird and lurid light with darkness near: 

All is suggestive of a lurking foe 

Eeady to spring unseen and strike a blow. 

The hunter tells him panthers sometimes creep 

On men in camp and kill them when asleep; 

And bears and wolves and snakes go prowling round, 

Making the woods one mighty burial ground. 

But though a tenderfoot and wholly strange 

To forest life he undergoes a change; 

He is no coward though he acts like one: — 

And with a last hard look his fears are gone. 

When he has supped he feels a different man: 

He laughs and jokes and helps the hunter plan; 

He smokes his pipe, a calumet indeed, 

For fears and terrors now no longer breed; 

The weird and giant shadows of the pines 

Grow less fantastic as the fire declines; 

And heaps of leaves well guarded from the fire 

Supply a bed and both the men retire. 



Estanaula 



The lightning's flash, the thunder's roar, 

The wind's strong volume and the pour 

Of water from the laden clouds, 

Are Nature 's methods, and the way 

She drives impurities away: 

Though Death stands ready with the shrouds. 

And thus a parallel is found 

In Nature for the battle ground: 

The selfsame energies are rife, 

The selfsame eagerness for strife: 

When armies meet and cannons roar, 

The storm is simply acted o'er. 

Twice have we been to Gettysburg 
And viewed the field where thousands died: 
Where Union men were sorely tried, 
While panic reigned in Harrisburg. 

The peaceful nature of the scene. 
The grandeur of the mountain heights. 
The sinking sun, the gleaming lights, 
All mingled pleasantly between. 

But these are not its history, 
These varied features of the land. 
But men determined on a stand. 
And struggle for the mastery. 
And shall a regiment that fought 
There long and well forget the spot, 
The furious charges and the shot. 
The ground so honorably bought? 

The morning that the fight began. 
In the beginning of July, 
Then Edwin atanton heaved a sigh, 
Knowing the character of man; 
The soldiers of the blue and gray 
By thousands were to die that day. 

What matters it where Army Corps, 
Division or Brigade were placed? 



78 A Last Token 



The lines still faintly can be traced, 
With Nature smiling as of yore. 

A hundred miles could see the smoke 
Of the great battle when it broke 
So high is Cemetery Hill; 
And echoes from artillery 
Were multiplied by hill and tree, 
Enough the universe to thrill; 
Added to which the Rebel yell 
And Yankee shout in potent spell. 

With courage planted in the heart 
By the Almighty, every part 
Of land and ocean felt its boon; 
And Pickett on the Southern side, 
Or Reynolds as the Federal's pride 
May not forgotten be so soon. 

Three days of fighting to and fro, 
Three nights of gazing down below. 
Where blazing in the fields and woods 
The fires revealed the stacks of arms 
In readiness for night alarms, 
And wounded still in warlike moods. 

Like as a storm we once beheld. 
The clouds were to the east impelled 
While in the west the sun appeared; 
The war was centered in the east. 
And Gettysburg was not the least 
To be remembered till it cleared. 

How sank the hearts of Southern men, 

When seizing with despair the pen 

The Muse of History wrote down: 

'Like Waterloo or Marathon, 

The Federal troops their battle won. 

And this is equal in renown; 

The Federal troops were unsubdued 

Nor may the battle be renewed. ' 

We 've stood on Round Top with its guns, 
We've sat on Cemetery Hill; 
And were we with the best of will 
To paint them as their history runs, 



Estanaula 79 



The Monuments and Tablets round 
Would still more eloquent expound. 

Historic spots in Gettysburg 
Are many and employ the pen, 
And with them is the Devil's Den, 
Held by the Federal fighting men 
When Lee went towards Chambersburg; 
Confessing failure in his bold 
Attempt so new and yet so old. 

There was a Colonel, Fox his name, 
Who studied out the fighting fame 
Of full three hundred regiments; 
But General Meade who led the fight 
Went further, and he hit it right, 
He sent them all his compliments. 



Vesperis 



With all the care that loving hands 

Could give and on her grave bestow, 

A gentle spirit lies below, 

A heart that piety expands; 

Still living though her dust lies there, 

Her name and memory remain; 

Nor have her virtues been in vain, 

Nor need one mortal soul despair. 

When he returned, the western town 
Wherein his mother made her home. 
Was almost blighted by the frown 
Of the then monarch on the throne: 
For it was winter, and the cold 
Had on the town a deadly hold. 

He was a long, long time from home; 
His father's picture on the wall 
Eecalled his death; and ancient tome 
He did at leisure overhaul. 
Contained the record and the date 
Of marriage in a foreign land. 

She had been sick, and holy church 
Had blessed her with the sacrament; 
But not as yet the funeral dirge. 
Her health returned; and provident 
As it appeared, her only son 
Surviving had to lean upon. 

The church, her membership whereof 
Was never questioned in her life. 
Stands forth an object bold enough, 
And favors motherhood and wife; 
And also keeps in view the end 
Of life and its religious trend. 

In course of time the Spring came on, 
In course of time the flowers appeared; 
And when the Summer had begun. 
And Nature with its fullness cheered, 
The simple duties of the house 
And home her energies did rouse. 



Vesperis 81 



Her son observing that she had 

A pile of German Magazines, 

'Mother, he said: I'm very glad 

Your mind to literature leans.' 

*0h! she remarked, but these are books 

That are deceiving in their looks. 

'These books are all religious ones; 
The lives of saints and holy days; 
The church as mentor to its sons: 
All treated of in various ways. 
Your books, she said — he* also read — 
More towards worldly matters lead.' 

Now the old lady once was youug 
And wore short dresses when a girl. 
And she recalled her braids as long 
And dark and innocent of curl; 
And her dark eyes looked down a well, 
Once on a time, too deep to tell. 

The tick-tack of the mantel clock, 

And glimmer of the evening lamp; 

The dames inhabiting the block. 

Or forlorn figure of a tramp: 

These little incidents of day 

And night helped pass the time away. 

Come in, come in you merry boy 
And chubby featured little maid, 
The little mother finds a joy 
And comfort also in your aid, 
When some far distant living friend 
The sunshine of her presence lent. 

The gliding onwards of the days. 
The years accumulating slow, 
Were most perceptible in ways 
Affecting life, for evening's glow 
Was seen in feebleness of step, 
Whene 'er abroad she took a trip. 

One Sunday, when the evening came, 
She gave her son a parting kiss; 
Calling him fondly by his name, 
And hoping for his future bliss; 



82 A Last Token 



And unassisted on the bed 

Laid down, where soon her spirit fled. 

Wash her ye women of the church 
And robe her in her habit brown, 
You may not in your furthest search 
Find one more worthy of renown; 
And the Third Order book she left 
Place at her feet, of use bereft. 

The veneration in his heart 

He for his mother always felt, 

Made him indifferent to the part 

That others played who sought her wealth; 

His grief, like fountain bubbling up, 

Filled more and more the dismal cup. 

Approaching with a reverent air 
He kissed her forehead and her feet; 
Then a young woman entered there, 
Also a child: and both the sweet 
Appearance of the countenance 
Perceived at once, nor was it chance. 

For it is certain that in death 
The heart obtains the upper hand; 
'Tis not affected by the breath 
Departing for a foreign land; 
All that is in it must remain 
On view for all to see it plain. 

Now tolled the bells, the mournful bells 
That meant a funeral that morn; 
Being but a step to church, by spells 
The bearers bore it to the bourne; 
And the whole empty funeral train 
Did at the church's doors remain. 

Like Vesperis the evening star 

So does religion guide the soul; 

An object visible afar 

Pointing and leading to the goal; 

Draw but the curtains of the night — 

Of death, and Faith will see the light. 



yesperis 83 



Before Saint Martin's altar rail 
The friendly bearers placed the bier; 
And the last judgment like a wail 
Of death or blessing to the ear, 
Was in the mass, the Requiem mass, 
Perceptible as in a glass. 

Then the good Father did his part 
And blessed the coffin and the dead; 
The sunbeams on the floor that dart 
The painted windows through, may lead 
With organ's dirge and children's choir, 
The sad procession to the door. 

In the Saint Louis cemetery 

Another Father blessed the grave; 

Another soul with Jesu-Mary; 

The man in charge the signal gave: 

The grave was filled, the crowd dispersed, 

And grief might secretly be nursed. 

The grave with all its vanity 
Of pomp and monument around. 
Where sweetened by a memory 
This bit of consecrated ground 
He may behold, he visits oft: 
Sending a prayer as well aloft. 

Time softens grief and melancholy. 
And coming with a bit of holly 
To lay upon his mother's grave. 
The universal sentiment 
Though but in marble finding vent. 
Another view to burial gave. 

'On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,' 
While the Crematory at hand 
Scatters your ashes to the wind; 
The spirit on the other shore. 
When the weird ceremony 's o 'er, 
Must feel like cotton that is ginned. 

'The simple mound of green for me. 
Where something of the dead I see;' 
And passing through the gate he stood 
Awaiting car in thoughtful mood. 



A Memory 



My lady going to the mass 
On Christmas morn, awakened was 
At four, at five she was in church; 
Arrayed with holly, pine and birch, 
With rare exotics — fairest flowers, 
The altar in the middle towers: 
Lit by a hundred gleaming lights, 
It made the prettiest of sights. 

The crib wherein the Babe was laid 

Was also prettily arrayed; 

The shepherds guided by the star 

Were present, coming from afar; 

And figures of the ox and ass. 

Breathed the incense of the mass 

On Joseph and his lovely spouse; 

On where the woolly lamb did browse; 

On lights half visible above — 

Eyes like the watchfulness of love; 

Nothing omitted from the scene 

To keep its vivid memory green: — 

'Twas thus St. Martin's church looked gay 

In Louisville on Christmas day. 

With a devotion in her heart 

That only Jesus could impart. 

And love for Mary and the church: 

Her conscience made a thorough search 

Of her connections with them all, 

And found but trifles to recall. 

Three masses in succession were 

Delivered to the people there 

In token of the Trinity; 

And crowded to the altar rail 

Were worshippers, when drawn the veil 

Away from high divinity: 

When bells were tolling, and the host 

Revealed the coming Pentecost. 

The straggling rays of day came in 

Before my lady did begin 

To turn her thoughts towards her home; 

The congregation drifted out, 

A brother snuffed the candles out. 

And all, or nearly all were gone: 

Only some children lingered near 

The Crib, and lingered without fear. 



Lilies of the Cross 



The sun shone through, — 

A glorious view, — 

The painted windows of the church; 

The organ 's swell 

In cadence fell, 

Triumphant now and now a dirge. 

The altar high, 

Was lighted by 

Electric lights and candles too; 

And lilies fair, 

And roses rare 

Perfumed the air and charmed the view. 

The organ pealed, 

The people kneeled. 

The Bishop celebrated Mass; 

The incense rose 

And veiled the Cross, 

And rolled in volume to the glass. 

The Host was raised. 

The Lord was praised, 

The bell rang sweetly — sounding three; 

The altar boy 

Or found employ. 

Or still attended on his knee. 

Now marched they forth 

As Heaven's court, 

All children from the smallest up; 

A Brother led 

With Cross ahead: 

The Bishop bearing Host and cup. 

All dressed in white. 

Each maiden bright, 

With wreath of flowers around her head, 

Well matched with boy, 

With face of joy: 

All marching on with solemn tread. 



86 A Last Token 



The organ pealed, 

The people kneeled 

As through the aisles the cortege moved; 

And lilies fair, 

And roses rare 

Perfumed the air and all aj)proved. 

It ended nigh 

The altar high; 

The Bishop benediction gave. 

And still the sun 

As when begun, 

Illumed each window like a wave. 



The Girl Who Took the Veil 

As finely formed as woman can 
Be formed and with a handsome face, 
Modest and with an inborn grace 
Not to be pictured by the pen, 
The cloister took her, and the veil 
Eendered her charms of no avail. 

The spirit of her lover came 
To Mary on a summer's night; 
He died a soldier, and his fame 
Or glory vanished from the sight; 
Buried on battlefield in old 
Virginia, such the tale as told. 

Her parents also passed away; 
Deeply religious in her heart. 
She went to church to kneel and pray; 
Nor was she mistress of the art 
To smile upon the busy crowd. 
And tell her miseries out loud. 

The girl, the beauty that was hers 

Might have been wooed a hundred times; 

But spirit wisdom rarely errs; 

And soon the music of the chimes. 

And countless pictures of the saints. 

Soothed her sorrows and complaints. 

There is a sisterhood of faith, 

Thore is a sisterhood of works: 

Their hands are joined; and Heaven aids 

The saint in whom no evil lurks. 

Thus was her name upon the roll 

Of honor through her mind and soul. 

Often you meet upon the street 
A woman, clothed in the garb 
Of sanctity whereof we treat; 
And though the infidel may carp. 
Her feet are treading in the path 
That leads away from Heaven's wrath. 

Between the hospital and school, 
The chapel and the convent cell. 
There was no time for faith to cool. 
Nor much historical to tell. 
And spirit of her lover might 
Still come and visit her of night. 



Our Lizzie 

There is a little maid, 

An orphan be it said, 

Who is living on Long Island near Jamaica O; 

She was her mother's pet, 

And she loves her father yet, 

And she's keeping house together with her grandma O. 

The beach at Eockaway, 

Is not many miles away. 

And she likes to hear the breakers in the morning 0; 

Her eyes are merry blue. 

And she twinkles them at you, 

As she plunges for a dip in the ocean O. 

Her mind is fully stored, 

I hope she'll get a lord, 

And have a heap of comfort in the future O; 

But if she never does. 

There is little use to fuss: — 

There are gentlemen enough in this country 0. 

She has a feeling heart. 

Is ready to depart 

And take a turn at sitting by the bedside O; 

And yet upon the street. 

The handsomest you'll meet. 

Will never look more charming than this lady 0. 

Alas, the Suffragette! 

For fair Elizabeth 

Looks better when she's singing than a million Oj 

And will she take a trip 

To Boston in a ship. 

And train her voice in music for a lecture O. 



Her Cousin German 

In far off Ozone Park, 

Where the music of the lark 

Adds a charm and a beauty to the landscape: 

A girl was sitting down, 

And some pretty airs were blown 

From an organ at her mouth in a grand shape. 

The fields were full of flowers, 

And the churchbells in the towers 

Were a-ringing and a-pealing come to worship; 

But the little girl kept on. 

And she cared not for the sun, 

So delightful seemed the calls of her heirship. 

The whistle of the train 

Sounding shrill across the main. 

Was a charm to the sailor then a-going; 

So the music of the sound 

Lingered sweetly all around: 

Would in hearts far away still be blowing. 

Who can be this pretty girl, 

That so careless to the whirl 

Of the world sits there playing like Handel? 

If Our Lizzie came along, 

'Cousin Ett, would be her song: 

Would you to please to kneel and tie my loosened sandal.' 



The Chaff Hunters 



When Helen, Queen of Sparta, ran 
Away from home and went to Troy, 
And a long chase for her began: 
Venus, who studied to annoy 
The Greeks and help the Trojans on. 
Furthered some work she had begun. 

They had been fighting for awhile, 

And the Greek galleys on the shore 

Were keej)ing house in royal style; 

The camp a genial aspect bore; 

Each galley had the local booze 

On tap, and drank whene'er it choose. 

One evening, when a harder fight 
Than usual with a Trojan corps, 
Had led Achilles out of sight: 
Ajax was standing in the door 
Of his own cabin on his ship. 
Waiting to take a social nip. 

With him were Menelaus and shrewd 

Ulysses and bold Diomede; 

All four were feeling very good; 

And all were heartily agreed 

On a good system bracer, then 

As now the balm of fighting men. 

So they had several rounds of drinks, 
And a comparison of notes; 
Ajax opined with sundry winks, 
That in a camp composed of boats, 
Discipline not so very strict 
Might go, at least he 'd venture it. 

Being as he was the Chief in charge 
Through a whole day, or day and night: 
Ajax was feeling pretty large; 
He might not equal in his height 
Mount Ida, but he felt as though 
That mountain height was pretty low. 



The Chaff Hunters 91 



Darkness was hanging over Troy; 
The challenge of the sentinels 
Was heard; and orders to employ 
In worship only muffled bells, 
That the Palladium might not leave 
The town: so Priam gave his Chief. 

Helen and Paris arm in arm, 
Were on the ramparts looking down; 
Hector had made it pretty warm 
For Greece; the Myrmidons all blown, 
Had tapered off in various shades 
Of drunken rest, like jovial blades. 

The stars shone softly on the scene; 
The moon was luminous and bright; 
And the twin rivers in between 
The hostile camps, were all alight 
With the soft glimmer of a host 
Of lightning bugs, like spirits lost. 

Now it so happened that the Queen 
Of Love and Beauty, all alone. 
Was fast approaching to the scene; 
A visit paid to sad (Enone 
The nymph, on Ida's mountain side: 
Her thoughts with travel did divide. 

The lightning bugs, who knew her well, 
Came in a cloud and darted here: — 
Their movements difficult to tell; 
Their love being evident and clear; 
And the long veil of Venus swept 
The ground, and measure with her kept. 

'Drink on ye Grecian Myrmidons, 
Let jovial Bacchus be your god; 
Storms and alarms or moons and suns 
May rise, be heard, or raise the rod: 
But the remembrance of the hours 
We have enjoyed will still be ours! ' 

Thus Ajax Telamon addressed 
His three companions of the camp; 
They were below as might be guessed; 
The fitful flicker of a lamp. 
Revealed the others in a bunk 
Stretched out, and gloriously drunk. 



92 A Last Token 



Ajax was drunk, no doubt of it; 
Though as the Officer in charge, 
He still retained sufficient wit 
To know the mountain from the barge: 
Though even that, as events proved. 
Might be endangered and removed. 

The Greeks were falling on the decks 
Like hail, and Bacchus smiled on them; 
He had a mortgage on their necks: 
What did it matter, pray! to him. 
Whether the Trojans took them off 
Or drink? he had them sure enough. 

Venus was coming in a cloud 

Of lightning bugs towards the camp; 

This glorious vision drew him out; 

Ajax imagined that the lamp 

Each insect carried in its womb. 

Was Jove's own weapon and his doom. 

So he defied the lightning bug: 

^Conie on! he shouted, with a roar 

That gained its volume from the jug: 

Come on! and damn you o'er and o'er!' 

His spear, magnificent and grand 

He hurled, and — grazed her dimpled hand. 

Then there was uproar sure enough: 
All Troy came flying to the scene; 
Helen, the wounded Queen of Love 
And Beauty drooping in her mien. 
Had borne within the Pergamus, 
Amidst a whirl ot noise and fuss. 

The Trojans did not care to fight, 
So they went back within their walls: 
But the Greek camp was in a fright; 
The clang of armor and the calls, 
Brought Menelaus and Diomede 
And shrewd Ulysses to their feet. 

As the whole camp came rushing out, 
Ajax was soon surrounded by 
A drunken and vociferous crowd; 
Lances and swords were waved on high; 
And Troy's fast disappearing host 
Was menaced, threatened with a roast. 



The Chaff Hunters 93 



Said Agamemnon: 'How is this?' 
He was the only royal Greek 
Still sober, and he knew his biz; 
Ajax explained the lightning trick: 
Said Agamemnon: 'Lightning hell! 
Look at the moon.' This broke the spell; 

But not the story. For it went 
From Troy to Greece, and traveled o'er 
The world, with every regiment 
That Grecian culture onwards bore; 
In fact the Trojan war is all 
A myth, a myth beyond recall. 



Epilogue 

There has arisen in the land 
A school of higher criticism. 
And there being evident demand 
For such a school — of skepticism, 
We have endeavored in this lay 
To also blow the chaff away. 

Carefully walk George Washington, 
Nor come too close Columbus lad: 
Yorktown may never have been won, 
And Isabella was she mad? 
There are historic doubts and we 
May in a month be chasing Lee. 

'Tis nice to be a higher critic; 
You sit with spectacles on nose, 
When some celebrity gets sick, 
And make a dive into your clothes. 
Bead the Britannica on Rome, 
And see his Worship going some. 

^The graphophone and phonograph, 
Observed the amiable ass — 
'Tis the Professor, do not laugh: — 
These instruments of art will class 
Amongst the triumphs of the age, 
And do away with written page. 



The Sceptre and the Lance 

When Shakespeare lived, the German States, 
And also France, were happy mates 
Upon Europa's continent; 
They fought each other when they went 
To market, and at church they glared 
Upon each other, and prepared 
To fight when service should be o'er. 
Fighters they were but something more: 
They were good actors, and when wine 
Had braced their faculties in line. 
They played a thousand merry pranks: 
They robbed the wicked Jewish banks. 
And tweaked the burgher's saucy nose, 
And stripped the women of their clothes, 
And made the country and the street 
They lived in beat a quick retreat. 

This play of course was understood 
By all Europa; but the blood 
Of England's Queen Elizabeth 
Was stirred, and she refused to let 
Her people see them any more: 
Placing a servant at the door. 
With orders not to let a Gaul 
Or Teuton come within the hall. 

Then she sat thinking for awhile. 
Her doubts resolving in a smile; 
This was no case for ships or men 
To fight, but did require a pen. 
So she went visiting and found 
A man already on the ground: 
A dramatist, a social lance, 
Against whom Europe stood no chance. 

Shakespeare felt honored when the Queen 

Came in; his wife felt just as proud; 

And both their loyalty avowed; 

And all were equal to the scene. 

So he attacked them through the play, 

The social weapon of the day; 

Where under characters disguised 

But real all Europe was comprised. 



The Sceptre and the Lance 95 



The passions, powerful and strong, 

Portrayed in counterpoise with love, 

In ways of good or deeds of wrong: — 

These in a thousand forms he wove 

Together, and the world to-day 

Still stares in wonder at the play; 

While England's realm and England's Queen, 

Were always gleaming in between. 

This was the work that Shakespeare did 

For England in her hour of need. 

Later, the French and Germans felt 
The scornful blows that had been dealt, 
And answered England in the way 
Of bold defence and through the play, 
Goethe, and the dramatists of France, 
Their social forces did advance. 
And struck some hard and heavy blows: 
Disturbing in its quiet repose 
The social peace that England won 
When Queen Elizabeth was on. 

With less of nature and of art. 

But more of learning and of law, 

The Gaul and Teuton boldly draw 

The veil and take a different part; 

The Briton, writing from the heart, 

Could have no sympathy with them; 

Nor, we believe, unless a whim 

Of fashion changes the decree. 

Will future ages live to see 

The laurels of the mimic stage 

Transferred, to crown the German sage. 



A Sonnet to the Moon 



'Tis not the moon so much as 'tis the man 
Inhabiting the same who is my theme; 
He came to life through something like a dream, 
Nor are we certain when his birth began. 

His smile is all benignity and peace; 
His touch is like the fingers of a woman; 
Thus he has sympathy with efforts human, 
And puts the world below him at its ease. 

Hail to you man with lantern in your hand! 
'Tis a rough road we're traveling through space, 
Spite of the easy going of our pace, 
And we are glad to have you in command. 
Thus on a winter's night in Seymour town 
We saw the moon while curtain pulling down. 



A Sonnet to the Cash Register 



A ringing up of bell, and bouncing forth 
Of a big number showing what you bought, 
That is the way your purchase has been caught 
And collared and immortalized on earth. 

It is a sign of honesty in man; 
Should the cashier forget to ring you up, 
And absent minded in his pocket drop 
Your honest coin, you place him under ban. 

Your moral nature rises in revolt: 
He is a rogue. But happily this state 
Of things is not too popular of late, 
And the cashier may credit what he sold. 
It is a great invention, and you feel 
That it is so when turning on your heel. 



The Warfare of the Wild 



The eight of May in Nineteen Hundred and Two, 
Eeckoning time from Jesus and his birth, 
There was a great disturbance of the earth 
In Martinique that many thousands slew: 
For on that day the beautiful Saint Pierre 
Did in a moment almost disappear. 

Beauty and wealth and fashion of the town; 
Merchants of France with others of renown; 
Sisters of Charity, who taught the rules 
Of grammar and religion in the schools; 
Innocent babes; the dying whom the priest 
Had still in mind when his own labors ceased; 
The Market Place, where gayety of heart 
Did to the town a character impart; 
Buildings and books and records of the past: 
Were all wiped out and in oblivion cast. 

There was a Giant in the pit below 

Imprisoned since Atlantis disappeared; 

And no one thought about him or him feared, 

Though he was almost daily in a glow. 

The little spiteful jets of gas or fire 

Did in the town but merriment inspire; 

So they went camping on the mountain's side 

And viewed the sea below in all its pride. 

Although at last a glimmer of the truth 

Flashed on the town, as when the ashes poured: — 

Covered the plain and all the sun obscured; 

Yet even then it ended in dispute: 

For it was pointed out the mountain had 

No record of being violently mad; 

And the good Jesus and His Mother would 

Stand by Saint Pierre and people for their good. 

Then there came bursting forth a deadly gas 
That was the cause of almost instant death; 
It was the Giant fanning with his breath 
The chemicals within the fiery mass. 
A yellow cloud came rushing from the side 
Of the great mountain with a bullet's speed; 



The Warfare of the W ild 99 



It reached the town and every creature dierl: 
And 't touched the sea and made it boil indeed. 
Even some ships then lying off the shore 
Were overcome and burned and seen no nure. 

The smoke was seen as far as Mexico; 
Enormous stones fell on the plain below: 
And clouds of ashes drifted out to sea. 
Even the derelict of forest tree 
Torn from the land by former hurricane, 
Seemed to be drifting in an ashen plain; 
This with the mud and boiling water heaved 
Into the air, the horrible achieved. 

Whether the soul be one in any town 
Or many thousands is not surely known. 
A solitary man alone survived — 
So it is said — and in the Fort arrived. 
Some thirty thousand of its people lay 
In death below awaiting Judgment Day. 

A Captain in the Fort had had a dream 
The night before — the Giant being its theme, 
That he survived Deucalion and the Flood: 
That he was thirsting for the people's blood: 
Because the evil spirit of his wife 
Was kept in cavern with the mermaid life; 
And she was burning with a fierce desire 
That he should free her through volcanic fire. 

The Captain was a Frenchman and he waved 
His sword on high and Monsieur Giant braved: 
'I still survive; my Country and Mon Dieu 
They both survive:" We'll fight you, Sacre Bleu! 
And Madame, said the Captain with a smile: 
Will have to wait; aye! wait a little while. 
I kiss my hand to Madame and to You; — ' 
And here the dream went fading from the view. 

When ships from France and other countries came, 

The warfare of the wild another claim 

Made on the Captain of the Gallic post; 

He dreamt again — but backwards — of a ghost; 

And young Mam'selle — his daughter — wrote it off: 

A dreamy thing though plausible enough. 



100 A Last Token 



There have been great catastroiDhes before, 
When Sodom sank to fascinate no more: 
And fair Gomorrah — also in disgrace — 
Embraced her sister with averted face. 

Always some Giant with an intellect 
That you must treat with eminent respect, 
Lambasts some city or some little town 
Because it meets with merriment his frown: 
And we suspect these cities of the plain 
Did thus their bad pre-eminence obtain. 

'When a new Government comes into power, 
Look for disturbances at any hour: 
Like as when Rome was tottering to decay: — 
When Pompeii — Herculaneum passed away. 

Tell me what harm had either city done, 
That the volcano from its fiery cone 
Should pour out lava by the thousand tons 
To 'whelm them both? — as Plinj^'s story runs.' 

'The Giant has his partisans of course; 
The Giant is an intellectual force: 
And he denounces people and their land, 
And wages war with military band. 

All Giants are alike in general form, 

And people flock towards them in a storm: 

For the}^ well know the Giant is a good 

And able being when in a righteous mood; 

But the infirmities of human life 

Are in them all, and few this fact survive.' 

'The disembodied Giant as a dream 
May so appear, or be a sunset gleam: 
Or he may flash as lightning in the sky. 
The zephyr winds that in the forest sigh 
May be his breath: or riding on the storm 
Work as a cloud immensity of harm.' 

'The rocks of mountains and the ocean waves. 
May hold a multitude of dreamy knaves: 
As may the chambers of the 'prisoned fires. 
Even our food repugnancy inspires, 
For we may take a Giant in our mouth 
And not be able e'en to spit him out.' 



The Warfare of the JVild loi 



The Captain's dream came to a sudden end: 
He leaped from bed his stomach to defend. 
'I must have had that Giant in my mouth, 
The Captain thought: so fearful is the drouth; 
A bottle of champagne or claret will — 
With a cold terrapin — the hole up fill.' 

Between Saint Pierre and town of Moulin Eouge, 
Or the Eed Mill to give it English touch: 
Lies the Egyptian darkness of the tomb; 
Below is Pelee with its fiery womb: 
Though its tremendous cone — four thousand feet, — 
Rises in air the traveler's gaze to meet. 

The Fort de France is miles on miles away; 

And the French Empress elegant and gay — 

The lovely Josephine, in every palm 

And fern and flower so dominates the calm: 

That the remembrance of the hurricane, 

Or the volcano active on the plain, 

Is half forgotten in the fairer being 

Who here was born and dreamt of wedding ring. 

The Convent clinging to the mountain's side, 
Ere Pelee 's flame it blotted from the sight, 
Held the sweet Sisters of the Catholic Church; 
And we believe no Devil will besmirch 
The reputation of these women, though 
Their charred remains are buried down below. 

The light and gay, the beautiful and free 
Were in Saint Pierre as beauty on the sea; 
But the old Giant in the pit below, 
A^iewed with a frown upon his furrowed brow 
The dancing and the doings in the town. 
And one more martyr with a martyr's crown 
Clomb on a pillared cloud of flame to heaven. 
There to be washed and robed and be forgiven. 

'And will you dream no more? Marie inquired 
As days went by and nothing had transpired. 

'I'll dream no more my elegant Marie, — 
Mam'selle of France: for Giants do you see 
Are an exhausting subject to a man. 
I'll place all future Giants under ban: 



102 A Last Token 



Their wives and interesting families: 
Their zephyr sighs beneath the forest trees; 
And gazing on your beauty and your smiles 
Forget the dangers in these ocean isles.' 

*And my new lingerie and dresses have 

Just come from France: escaping from the wave 

To meet their fate in the volcanic fire. 

Is ttis the end of elegant desire, 

That ruthless hands will from a woman tear 

Her very dress, as happened over there?' 

The Captain chucked his daughter under chin, 
Shrugged up his shoulders with a Gallic grin 
And drew his sword and kissed its shining blade. 
Another vow would surely have been made, 
When said Mam'selle: 'It is the Blessed Book 
And rosary and Virgin in the nook, 
Who must combine to give these islands peace — 
Before the warfare of the wild will cease.' 

Her father drank a glass of claret down, 
Walked to a window overlooking town, 
And called his charming daughter to his side; 
Then in a minute more he thus replied. 

'We may compare, but one thing will remain: 
That there are Giants in the fiery deep 
Who may remain a million years asleep. 
Yet in the end the bursting of their chain 
Makes them resemble Pelee in its wrath: 
Makes then resemble cyclones in their path; 
And though but little known and partly seen. 
They mark the epochs of the world between. ' 

And as a final and a wind up take 

The Captain's word for brave Napoleon's sake. 

'The sun has power, the moon has also power; 
And every planet in malignant hour, 
Euffles its fur or feathers when some act 
Of slight or wrong its notice does attract: 
For it is probable that Monsieur Mars 
Has imitators also 'mong the stars.' 



7he Warfare of the Wild i03 



Then the young woman known as Sweet Marie, 
Mam'selle of France and Virgin of the Sea: 
Made this last entry in her little book 
Ere she to sewing for diversion took. 

'There may be spooks or giants as they say, 
Who differ from the people in my way, 
Like for example soldiers in the Fort: 
But do I care for learning of that sortf 
Non! non. Oh Blessed Mother of the sky. 
Keep me forever near you till I die.' 

She stroked the cat; she picked her needle up; 

Poured tea into a little china cup: 

And having lunched in such a simple style, 

Watched a young soldier sentinel awhile. 

He may yet be an officer, she thought, 

Should war occur: and wars are sometimes fought;- 

Laid on the snowy whiteness of her breast 

A passion flower, while fancy did the rest. 



The Building of a Star 



When the Great Spirit, ruler of the stars, 
Who fills the void we commonly call Space; 
When this renowned and potent character 
Gets an impression on His august mind 
That there is something lacking in the void, 
He forms a Congress wholly of Himself, 
And passes laws defining what He wants. 
This is the first preliminary step. 



n 

Then the Great Spirit notified a Dream 
That he should bring the leading Architect, 
And the Contractor doer of the work. 
Immense excitement in the universe; 
The molecules microbes and the bacilli, 
And the invisible atoms in the void: 
These, through some form of high intelligence. 
Had it impressed upon their infant minds 
That a new star was coming into being; 
A new abode, where warfare of the wild 
Might give them all their full development. 

They might be genii in the coming star; 

They might be pigmies fighting with the gnomes; 

Bits of intelligence in animal form. 

Or some fantastic thing in forest wild: 

But it was life. And sensitive to life 

Whether in sun or planetary form. 

Their eagerness and longing for the same 

Made them all rush towards the Spirit 's Throne. 

Then the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne, 
And where He met the leading Architect, 
Said turning to the monster of a Dream, 
And pointing to the surging atom waves: 
' Keep them in hand, and when We build the star 
We'll make selections proper for the same.' 



The Building of a Star 105 



Then the Great Spirit took the Architect 
Into iiis sanctum where the plans were madej 
And the Contractor with a crowd 
Of his subordinates coming into view: 
The doors were closed; the wireless telegraph 
Was disconnected from its poles in space; 
The waiting Dream was ordered to appease 
The injured feelings of the molecule world; 
The confab ceased; the balance was restored; 
And the new star was fairly under way. 

Ill 

Doubtless the universe holds many a Dream 
That is the counterpart of Eockefeller: 
A Dream with speculative tendencies, 
With inborn love for the material. 
When such a Dream assumes material shape 
It still retains its former predilections, 
And't overreaches all the smaller Dreams. 
With one enormous hand it grabs the earth, 
And with the other justifies the act. 

We are not dealing with the rights of things 
As Milton did or Dante in his poems: 
For it is well that glimpses of the truth 
As to the building of a sister star 
Should be advanced on independent lines. 
A Dream was busy with the author's mind; 
And the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne 
May be regarded as a millionaire: — 
Master of many suns and countless moons. 

The ether waves being pregnant with the fire 
That might be called the principle of life, 
Now moved towards their darker opposites; 
The cold embosomed in these darker waves 
Was of the kind abounding at the Poles: — 
The two embraced and Life and Death were born. 

The Architect was busy with his work; 
And the Contractor gathered in his hand 
The molecules microbes and the bacilli. 
And the invisible atoms in the void: 
These he kept dealing out to lesser Dreams, 
Till he was satisfied there was enough. 



106 A Last Token 



Then the Great Spirit called before His Throne 

The new born pair, so widely ditferent, 

And called one Life and called the other Death. 

'Now, said the Spirit in a fatherly tone, 

You two are partners in this business 

And you must work together on this star; 

This star will be supreme in intellect; 

It will not have the power of control 

As has a sun: — 'twill be of planet form, 

But it will have the sflory of a sun.' 

'And what my Lord, said Life, will be its sex?' 

*Aye! said the grisly Spectre at his side. 

What is the sex to be of this affair?' 

'I have not yet decided on the sex. 
Said the Great Spirit in a musing tone: 
I am a male Myself and like a girl; 
But the fair Spirit on the other side 
Wno is my wife may take a different view.' 

'Olympia, My Darling! said the Lord 
Of the whole universe that night in bed: 
This star, what shall it be, a pretty girH' 
'No, said the Lady, let it be a boy.' 
Thus in a jift'y was this knotty point 
Decided; and the wisdom of the Lord, 
As the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne, 
Was not impeached by any lesser lord. 

IV 

In an erratic orbit of its own. 

And with a tail a million miles in length. 

There soon appeared a comet in the sky; 

It was of gauzy texture for the eye 

Could pierce it through, or very nearly through. 

But the Great Spirit and the Architect, 
And the Contractor with his helping hands, 
Who had been working on this pulpy thing. 
Were near at hand and watchful of its course; 
While Life and Death were dominant within. 

'I must attach this fellow to some sun,' 
Said the Great Spirit to Olympia. 



The Building of a star 107 



'Yes, said the Royal Lady in assent: 
Bit wait awhile.' 'Of course, the Spirit said; 
His babyhood is so apparent now 
That he would suffer by comparison.' 

Astronomers were figuring on him, 

And the cartoons were busy with his tail. 

And all the merry children on the earth 

Kept him in mind and looked for him at night. 

His photograph was easily obtained; 

But the Great Spirit's sitting on His Throne 

Was not obtainable at any price. 

None of the Dreams or Spirits of the world 

That are invisible to human eyes 

Came into view through photographic art. 

The comet grew, its tail diminishing; 

Its oibit lessened; and its pulpy state 

"Was also less apparent to the eye. 

In course of time the comet disappeared; 

And the astronomers in doleful tones 

Announced the fact and w^ondered w^here it went. 

But the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne 
Had held a consultation with His Wife, 
And had inquired: 'Olympia my dear, 
Shall I attach this fellow to some sun 
Or let him make his individual choice?' 
'Find him a place,' the Lady had replied. 

Once in a while discovery is made 

That some new planet, never known before, 

Has made its first appearance near some sun. 

All the big telescopes are trained towards 

The stranger star; a name is given it; 

And the Bertillon system as applied 

To human beings for human measurements, 

Is misdirected also to the star. 

Lombroso, ganger of the faculties 

Of the depraved — degenerate on earth. 

May be appealed to as a gentleman 

To take an upward flight and gauge the star: — 

All things are possible on mother earth. 



108 A Last Token 



The star was built^ its orbit was secure; 

And Life and Death still partners as of yore, 

Still subject to the Spirit on the Throne: 

Woke up the Genii when their parts came on; 

Stood by when fought the pigmies and the gnomes; 

Wrangled about intelligence in beasts: 

And fell apart — repelled — in forest wilds. 

And the fantastic vaudeville of life: 
Imagination in a riot cast, 
Or cool exultant Eeason on its throne, 
This, ere the fervent spirit of its youth 
Had given place to mellowness of age, 
May be conceived as present on its stage. 

The star should also have its working hours. 
'Lord! said a Dream, — it might be Rockefeller's — 
Could I obtain the body of the sun, 
Which in my humble judgment is a mass 
Of fine, magnetic, solid iron ore: 
With mines of coal contained within its bowels. 
And all on fire, thus giving us the light — 
And heat required to brave the winter's cold: 
I'd pile a fortune up that e'en the wealth 
Of the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne, 
Master of many suns and countless moons. 
Could not surpass. — At least a little bit.' 

'Well! said a Dream, — but of a different kind — 
I'd rather have the power of the Spirit:^ 
For He is ruler of the universe. 
Than the fair Dream, who is my spirit wife, 
Would not be filled with envy that Olympia 
Should far outrank her in the universe.' 

We are content with building of the star. 
Later some Bard with dreamy faculties 
May seize his pen with confidence, and write: 
'As it began so surely will it end; 
The Dreams so potent in its infancy 
May reappear when dissolution comes.' 

The Bard may tip his hat to future Dreams; 
And being informed as to the general facts 
Produce a play, with scenery effects, 
Of the dramatic ending of the star. 



The Wreck of the Pelican 



*Well, said the Ghost, when he recovered breath, 

Having been roughly hustled to his death: 

Where is the Isle I started from of late?' 

He seemed to be a roving sort of blade, 

For he kept going for a hundred miles; 

He rode the clouds in all the various styles 

That the best rider in a circus may 

Be thought to do, with nothing in his v/ay. 

He seemed so pleased with riding on a cloud, 

That he expressed his sentiments aloud; 

And catching in a megaphonic way 

Some of his bold adventures through a day, 

We'll write them down; not vouching for the same. 

Though we'll declare that Pringle is his name. 

There are peculiar phases that at death 
Are wholly independent of the breath, 
When the departed spirit as a dream 
May still survive; and mingle with the stream 
And the deep current of humanity: 
Able to hear, to travel and to see. 

As he was passing by a coral reef 
He heard a voice, and recognized a chief 
Of the Rebellion in America; 
There are rebellions southwards every day, 
But this particular one was in the north. 
Where law is more important than the sword: 
So Pringle paused. 'What are you doing here, 
Pringle was shouting hoarsely in his ear: 
Are you not Farragut of Mobile fame?' 
*Yes sir, I am; the answer to him came; 
My fleet is here imprisoned in this reef — 
I must remain: I'm waiting for relief.' 

Like as a stormy petrel on the lee 

Of a big ship, so Pringle skimmed the sea, 

And he sat down upon the coral reef. 

'Let us play cards while waiting for relief;' 

*No, said the Admiral, I'll play you chess.' 



110 A Last Token 



He vtas the better player we confess, 

He won the game: he won a hundred times. 

'What is that noise, said Pringle, are they chimes?' 

* Eight bells,' said Farragut; and threw the board 

Into the sea while flourishing his sword. 

'You are a Southern traitor in disguise: 

You keep me here; get back into the skies.' 

And Pringle leaping nimbly on a cloud 

Yelled in his wrath, 'I'll furnish you a shroud;' 

The cloud became a giant waterspout 

Blotting the coral reef completely out; 

But still the voice of Farragut was heard 

D — ning his eyes, with punishment deferred. 

An eagle flew o'er Popocatepetl, 
And the great bird no bigger than a beetle 
V\''as long admired by Pringle and the sun. 
'He need not fear an Indian's wanton gun. 
Said Pringle to himself, he's safe up there; 
He is indeed the monarch of the air; 
Aye! he descends, he's tiring of the snow; 
Doubtless his nest and mate are there below.' 
And with this glimpse of Montezuma's land, 
Pringle went down to where the air was bland. 

'Is this a dream or am I dreaming here?' 
A lovely little island did appear. 
That has no name nor place on any chart, 
Though it is dear to every human heart, 
For it is called: The Island of the Blessed. 
Here little children all in white were dressed. 
And romped and played; while lovers arm in arm 
Added another beauty to its charm. 

'I will descend, said Pringle, and enjoy 

This scene awhile; I also was a boy.' 

But a great jaguar glowered in a cage, 

And shook the bars with fury in its rage. 

'This place is for the living, said a girl, 

And you are dead. There came a wilder whirl 

From the great beast and open flew the door. 

'I can not laud, said Pringle o'er and o'er; 

But am I dead? I do not think I am; 

Aye! I believe this island is a sham; 

I'll find its latitude and longitude 

When I get home and settle with that brute.' 



The Wreck of the Pelican \\\ 



The next he saw was General Washington 
Walking around the country with his gun, 
lie also had a hatchet in his belt. 
'Vv^hat is he up to now?' and Pringle felt 
The clouds a-slipping from him to the sea; 
He rose again, and saw a cherry tree; 
At the same moment Washington espied 
The laden tree and Pringle 's ghost defied. 
'Come but a furlong nearer and you die.' 
'Why should I die? said Pringle in reply, 
I am a spirit now; but what are you?' 
Thus back and forth their challenges they flew. 

'I want some cherries and I'll have them, come! 
Said Pringle 's ghost, stand by, and give me some.' 
Bang! went the gun, and Pringle flew away. 
The blue Caribbean faded into gray — 
He rose so high; and when he looked again. 
He saw Mount Vernon outlined on the plain, 
And on the grave of Washington a log 
Of cherry wood, with figure of a dog. 

'Forecastle men, said Pringle to himself, 
As he caught glimpses of the Mexican gulf. 
May be considered liars from their birth; 
Yet the salt sea finds washable their dirt — 
It floats away; and nothing but our bones 
All white and clean are found by Davy Jones.' 

The air was getting warmer, and he caught 
A cirrhus cloud, a little one he thought. 
And fanned himself serenely on a cloud. 
The isle of Martinique was there about, 
And he looked down on Pelee from above. 
The mountain smoked, in ashes was the grove, 
And ruin and desolation were beneath; 
There was not visible a single street: 
Ashes were there and lava by the mile; 
While underneath, all waiting for the smile 
Of Providence, were thirty thousand men 
And women waiting to be born again. 

'Are there no spirits of the dead about? 
Thought Pringle 's ghost, I'll try and find this out;* 
So he crept nearer to the crater's mouth 
And peered within, and saw a pirate crew: 
The Spanish main came also into view. 



112 A Last Token 



Full of excitement Pringle's ghost did bawl: 
'Blaekbeard! Lafitte! I recognize them all; 
What is the use their logs to overhaul? 
The Pirate's Book has a catalogue of names, 
And here they are all dancing in the flames. 
Sharks of the sea! ' — here Pringle gave a gasp 
And sought in vain the mountain's sides to grasp; 
'This must be hell, I think;' and down he sank 
And of the ocean's salty water drank. 

When he regained his wind and looked about, 
All Martinique was covered with a cloud: 
Even Fort de France was hidden from the view. 
'What has become of Kidd?' and thither flew 
The ghost of Pringle for another look; 
But it is not recorded in the book — 
Or rather log, that Pringle as a ghost 
Kept in his head about this dangerous coast. 
That he succeeded in his wild attempt; 
The sea of fire successfully he stemmed; 
But the more deadly volume of the gas 
He found by far more difficult to pass. 
Hence we surmise that Pringle never saw 
The Captain any more but did withdraw. 

Some ships of war were hovering around; 
Whether for Panama or Eio bound, 
Or merely watchful that the Spanish Main 
Should not return to piracy again: 
The log of Pringle is uncertain here. 
Something of more importance does appear. 

The giant headland where the wreckage laid, 

So he supposed, was running in his head. 

'I think there's something chasing me,' he said. 

He turned around and looked towards the land; 

The air was sugar laden and was bland. 

'There are the niggers working in the fields; 

This is no land for chivalry and shields. 

This is Jamaica, ain't it, am I right?' 

He rose a mile or two for better sight. 

When a hot Something touched him on the arm, 

Adding new terrors to his first alarm. 

'The Devil! aye, the Devil!' and a yell 
Burst from his lips; while sounding of a bell 
Ascended from below and drew him down. 



The Wreck of the Pelican 113 



*I am a Spirit ocean born to drown;' 

But his Satanic Majesty refused 

To give him leave and him of crime accused. 

Up in the air a battle then ensued, 
And Pringle's ghost with energy endued, 
Now leaped aside, now flew towards the land. 
Now made a gallant and determined stand: 
Till he fell down; and striking on the deck 
Of his own ship there laid a helpless wreck. 

'This is Jamaica where the wreck occurred, 
And here is where the hurricane we heard; 
We drove ashore; we caught the ragged edge 
Of the big blow and landed on a ledge; 
I had a tumble for I struck the deck 
Like as a flail.' And feeling for his neck 
The ghostly hand of Pringle touched a cloud. 
'This one is dark and heavy like a shroud — 
I'll dress myself and find the Pelican.' 
Upon the instant searching he began, 
Till a low funnel and a jury-mast 
Rewarded Pringle 's eft'orts at the last. 

He next appeared as lying in a bunk. 
More like a spar or useless piece of junk 
Than the renowned and celebrated Ghost 
Who had been doing duty on that coast. 

The Captain's daughter handed him a mug. 
The Captain's steward lifted up a jug — 
There was a gurgle and a heavy sigh. 
'My man, said captain Biddle, don't you die; 
Brace up a bit; here, take another sniif.' 
The steward lit his pipe and took a whiff; 
The Captain's daughter picking up a book 
At the young sailor shyly took a look; 
While growls, proceeding from the deck above. 
Showed that some tar an argument would prove. 
He 1 ow was doing well, as doctors say 
Whe they are sure of patient and of pay. 

The damage to the ship had been repaired; 
The steam was up; the atmosphere had cleared. 
And it was balmy as a day in June. 



114 A Last Token 



'May, said the steward, he'll be better soou; 

His skull you see is tolerably thick 

And that's M^hat saved the breaking of his neck. 

We are not in the confidence of May, 

And of her thoughts have nothing here to say, 
Bnt she went down below, and brought a mug 
Full to the brim to Pringle from the jug. 



'Tis a-Coming 

Judgment Day is near at hand, 
For the signs we understand; 
Wrongs committed, penance done, 
Conscience ruling, sparing none. 

Nations still unknown will rise 
To eminence through enterprise; 
Language changing; Nations old 
At rest — all easily foretold. 

Cities eminent and famed 
Will either disappear, or tamed, 
8ee others rising where the ground 
Was forest once or funeral mound. 

Three upheavals of a Power, 
Still a Fourth must have its hour; 
Government like human life 
Making efforts to survive. 

Doubt not but the glorious sun 
Will still retain its hold upon 
This little planet, when the sword 
Is sheathed through the coming Lord. 



The Shadow Land 



The question rises what is death? 
We know 'tis parting with the breath; 
We know that dissolution comes, 
And that it paralyzes homes. 

The gross material envelope 

Of this our spirit, favors hope 

Of a renewal of the same, 

When purified through endless flame. 

The Lord, our leader in the land, 
Will help us with a guiding hand; 
His nature being the same as ours, 
Only sujjerior in powers. 

This is a comfort to the soul, 
And argues family control; 
Each spirit atom at the end 
Being sure of meeting with a friend. 

The insignificance of life 
Is proof itself it will survive. 
For the wild slaughter of the field 
Of war the evidence does yield. 

The evidence is in; and breath 
May be a spirit after death; 
But as for cause and origin 
That is beyond the ken of men. 



DEC to 1910 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



